


Fear of Wolves

by Yuni30



Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Developing Friendships, Fear of Discovery, Friendship, Gen, Madness, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Shipwrecks, Suicidal Thoughts, Survival, Werewolves, Wilderness Survival, accidental murder, fear of wolves, murder mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 11:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19131532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuni30/pseuds/Yuni30
Summary: Werewolves- the deadliest creatures in Autumnia. One could spend all of their life hearing about the wretched things unknowing of their personal future. Cast onto the northern shores of the Summerlands, would humanity prevail over the creature? What of friends? Could they handle the crimes already committed? Best to lay low until the return home, a cure, a betrayal, or- better for everyone's safety- death comes to the cursed.





	1. Prologue

“So you seek Hamelin,” the merchant at Castaway Cove inquired. When he saw the three confirm this, he nodded, pressing a hand to his chin in thought. “I must warn you- if you thought the terrible rumors of a beast wondering these parts were nightmarish, you have yet to know of the werewolf curse of Autumnia.”

“Werewolf curse,” Oliver repeated. “Werewolves exist here,” he asked the fairy.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “They do. Rare to see ‘em nowadays but, they’re still proper dangerous!”

“Indeed! You know of the curse,” the merchant crowed. He leaned over the pot in which their newfound genie friend returned to reside. “It is an ancient tale spread far of how it became as it is now- the machine empire of the world.” He spread his arms out for emphasis. He leaned forward again. “You see, no one knows where the curse began, but it started in the early days of Hamelin, back when it was but a small pig rearing township.”

Drippy nodded, the lantern jangling with the motion. “Right you are! They made their livin’ off pigs- it wasn’t just their export either.” He shook his head, closing his eyes and crossing his tiny yellow arms across his light blue chest. “No, no, no! It was their bloomin’ food source!”

The shopkeep pointed excitedly at the fairy. “Yes! And a vital one, too! But when the werewolves came- came from a dark valley to the west of the settlement- their livestock was decimated.” He breathed in deeply. “They would come once every month under the bright pale light of the full moon and eat their fill and continue to return three days after. This happened for years! Whole towns fell to ruin through sheer starvation around them… but not Hamelin.” He tapped his faded red bandana and continued, “See, the Hamelin people were smart- they built stone walls around their town to try and keep the wolves out.”

“Aye, but that wasn’t the least of their problems, now was it?!”

The ginger-haired boy turned to look at the fairy. “Why? What happened, Mr. Drippy?”

“Was it wars? Did the other cities wage wars on them,” Esther questioned. “After all, they _were_ the only ones with a decent supply of food.”

The fairy vigorously nodded. “Ol’ Hamelin got pounded hard by other cities. Hunger drove them all mad, y’see? They wanted what they had. And if just the threat of other towns and flippin’ werewolves weren’t enough, the werewolves, some bein’ turned Hamelin citizens themselves tried to break down some of their defenses. Led to some nasty wolf hunts, it did.”

“Wolf hunts,” the mage parroted again, nervously holding his chest.

The fairy shook his head. “Terrible things they were. Ain’t for the faint of heart.”

“So, people got smart and started mining. For metal. They were going to defend themselves on both fronts. Wolves, while strong enough to break down stone walls, were not able to break into the iron ones they built.” The shop keeper knocked on the cauldron. “The wars devastated the farmlands through mining alone. They made tanks modeled after the very animals they fought for. They became obsessed with winning out over their threats. When every one of their foes was squashed under the new reigning kingdom, they had nothing left but to turn back to inventing- inventing to prevent the onslaught of the wolves and to maintain some semblance of society.”

“But they’re shielded in iron now. Wouldn’t that be enough,” the girl wondered, looking over at an equally confused Oliver.

The fairy shook his head. “Werewolves can climb, Esther. They can jump even higher. Ya really think a couple o’ walls halted them?”

“On top of that, fairy, many of their number began truly embracing their beastly lives. They worked against them. Those of Hamelin born blood turned on their own. Once turned, a victim could be convinced by a cursed one to abandon hope. They used the innate nature of human understanding and want of belonging against them to join their cause.”

Esther looked at the shop keeper with a raised eyebrow. “So how does one… become a werewolf?”

“A bite. That is all it takes. Many claim scratches are just as damning, but that is just myth.” He shook his head. “It got so out of hand that, while entrenched below ground, Hamelin built its walls even higher and eventually covered itself with a massive ceiling to keep people from changing. The royal family is one of the guaranteed few safe from this wretched curse- after all, it’s their magic that’s kept the city safe!”

The merchant sighed. “That ceiling, I’ve heard, is both a blessing and a curse. A werewolf cannot change if the moon is not shining on them so as long as they are within its walls, anyone could be a werewolf. Anyone.”

“So… they’re not grimalkin,” Oliver asked. “You know, those people that look like animals?”

“No! These are actual feral beasties once turned, Ollie-boy. Think broken hearted and nightmares combined in one unholy abomination. But only- it’s a person covered in fur acting all weird like!” Drippy shook his head. “These monsters take the form of humans mostly- not to be confused with shape shiftin’ spells or grimalkin! There’s insulting,” he spat, wincing.

“Wait… Nightmares? I’ve heard of them. They’re like demons that possess broken hearts, right?”

The fairy looked to Esther. “The very same!”

“So, what happens if people find out you’re a werewolf,” the harpist asked, turning her attention back to the shop keeper.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He scratched the back of his head. “I hear they just cast them out of their society… But I also hear, they treat them as one who has already committed murder.” He looked up frankly, somberly. “They are sentenced to death. Or worse.” He leaned back, removing his hands from the cauldron. “If you are going to Autumnia, beware the valley and beware the weeks of the full moon. You may find a stray werewolf there.”

As Oliver picked up the cauldron, the pot shrank in response to it's master’s touch, allowing him to put it in his bag for safe keeping. They thanked the shopkeeper for the information and began to depart for Al Mamoon so they could arrange passage.

As they walked, the mage pulled out the wizarding tome at his hip. “I wonder if the Wizard’s Companion has any information on werewolves…”

“I flipping doubt it, Ollie-boy,” the fairy denied. “Werewolves are a secretive sort. There’s not much recorded of the beasts outside of hear-say because of it! If ya do find anything ya might just get the information you already know.” He nodded affirmatively. “Hard to detect, they are.”

The harpist walked alongside them and looked up at the sky. “Do you really think werewolves are as dangerous now? I mean, don’t they eat farm animals for the most part?”

“Do bears not attack the occasional human,” Drippy retorted, looking up at the familiar tamer. “I’ve heard they sometimes hunt down travelers and traders in past times when food’s been scarce.” The fairy shivered. “And they like ‘em young.” He nodded as he followed them. “Even if they’re rare by here, no one’s safe there unless they live on the other side of the mountains or in the city- that’s what we’ve heard.”

Esther tilted her head as she stepped through the side of a small and rather shallow pond. “Why the mountains?”

“They’re probably too steep or something,” the boy responded. “Or maybe the altitude?”

The fairy shook his head. “Who flippin’ knows. All I know is that once we get there, we better sleep in shifts, got it?”

Oliver stopped short, his head bowed in thought. “Hold on,” he began. “Wouldn’t werewolves be able to come over to the Summerlands? Doesn’t Al Mamoon and Ding Dong Dell trade with Hamelin?”

Esther shook her head. “If there were werewolves here don’t you think more people would have talked about it?”

The boy turned around to face them. “But what about that beast going around causing trouble?”

“Too recent,” Esther groaned. “From what I remember, the beast wasn’t around until less than a decade and a half- and no one knows what it even looks like! There would have been more accounts of werewolves.”

The fairy crossed his arms and nodded again. “Aye, and legend has it, werewolves fear the sea and prefer familiar places. Some say it’s because they can’t right control themselves under the moon so a voyage on the ocean would be proper risky for them…”

“Still… That whole beast business bothers me,” the boy indicated. “Have we been lucky this entire time?”

“It hasn’t been a full moon, yet, Oliver,” Esther corrected him. “They only come out during that time, remember?”

“Oh… Right.” Oliver flashed a small embarrassed smile. “We should hurry, then. We don’t want it to find us.”

They all collectively nodded in agreement. They turned and began their trek across the desert for the second time that week.

 _They cannot know your secret. You need them. You need to go home…_ a broken mind thought. The owner of such a damaged consciousness peered around a tree. He gripped the trunk and dug his nails into reign in the impulse to run after them.

A curse upon a curse… The universe was truly cruel.

 


	2. Chapter 1

He had woken up on the shores of the Northern Summerland Kingdom. He didn’t remember how he had gotten there. They were in the middle of the sea when he last checked. It was night. He must have blacked out.

He clutched his right arm as he got up. He must have been laying on it for some time. He drug himself from the water’s edge and checked himself… His clothes had been slightly torn from the ocean’s abuse. He felt scratches on his face from the waves constant pattern of throwing him back onto the shore. The same went for his hands.

He limped towards the nearest town. His left leg was in bad shape but he figured, he could still try and get help in some way.

He spied himself in a pool and instantly regretted his decision. He looked rough. His hair was going everywhere. He was covered in sand and dirt. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Those months of working on that boat had not been kind.

Those months of fighting _it_ back had not been kind. All those months of hiding from the light of the moon wore him out. Every time he fought the change, his head ached. He gripped his right arm, holding his chest, and looked at the shore of the small stream.

He fell to his knees and clutched his head with his left arm. Memories- memories of what had happened flashed before his eyes. Everything was red. The ship members were running away from him. Wood went flying. He remembered the feeling of tearing a plank from the deck. He remembered charging after anything that moved, breathed, or even looked at him.

And he did so with inhuman speed. He remembered clawing into something… squishy- like human flesh. And it was all in the darkest of red as if his own vision was stained with the blood of his victims. He felt his breath catch on his throat. He felt his stomach turn. He felt the bile rise at the very thought of his actions. He held it back as he looked at his reflection again.

His teal coat was clean. His shirt was clean. Everything… Everything was clean.

Perhaps it was a nightmare? Perhaps it was a storm he was remembering?

But then the screams came back. The screams of the crew. Some called his name to try and stay him. Some tried to stand their ground and fight him- the ones who met their untimely death. It had been a blood bath from what he could make out from his muddled memory.

He finally lost it. He threw up and after retching into the stream for what felt like an eternity he lied on his side and began to sob quietly to himself.

“Why?! Why this,” he cried. “I’m already powerless- a disgrace to Hamelin itself… This…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. _I might as well die. This is the final nail in the coffin. I… I can never go back…_ was what he thought. _I’m my own family’s natural enemy. A monster…_ He held his knees close to his chest. _What place would I have now…? Surely…_ He shook. _Father would be so disgraced… And Marcassin…_ Even his little brother would despise him now, realized. He had ended the lives of the entire crew- so he thought.

He cried there next to the river for hours. No one came to comfort him. No one knew he was even there. He eventually rose, a leg bent and another lying alongside the shore of the river. He still shook from the left-over adrenaline, but his eyes had since glazed over. He crossed his arms in an attempt to still his trembling.

“Pathetic,” he spat as he looked down at his legs. He couldn’t fight the urge to find something to eat. He had wanted to die. “I can’t even let myself starve.” But he was a man of his word. He made a promise to his dear little brother- a promise that came with one specific clause. He could not die.

He looked up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set.

He laughed. For the first time that day, he let a smile creep onto his face. “I’m really pathetic if I’m going to give up that easily…” He scoffed. He shook his head. To think he had constantly berated his brother for giving up his practices on _numerous_ occasions.

He got up and looked at the town he had started to venture to. _I made a promise, didn’t I? I_ will _go back home- monster or no_. He cracked a grin at the town surrounded by a moat. _I still have that training to do, don’t I?_ He held his head high, his nose slightly angled to the pink-hued clouds. “One day, Marcassin, I’ll come back stronger than ever,” he whispered.

He still felt sick to his stomach. He could never let anyone find out. This was his terrible curse.

* * *

 

How wrong he was that he could keep it hidden. When small jobs and theft couldn’t feed him, it only made it worse. It made the beast in him cry out in anguish. He thought he could hear it moan and whimper. He thought he could hear it snap and growl. It _longed_ for the hunt.

One evening when he was particularly hungry, he felt it call to him. It was tired of waiting.

The moon sang to him and he could feel the change in his body happening. He could feel the ache of his bones shifting and stretching. He could feel his skin itch and sting as hair started to form.

_Don’t kill anyone… Not again... Please just leave these people alone,_ he pleaded with it as he grabbed at the top of his hair. The good people of Ding Dong Dell didn’t need to suffer losses of their own number. He had killed enough, he realized. He threw himself against a wall under a canopy to slow the process down. _Don’t do it! Stop!_ He clenched his teeth but found they were fitting oddly.

He bolted towards the city exit, hiding in the shadows when he could. He felt his fingernails shifting, sharpening. His hands and feet ached, and he winced and grunted whenever the moon shown on him. Just before he reached the entrance, he realized the itching had stopped on his arms and he took notice the dark short fur all over them. He felt his jaw stretch, his nose morphing with it.

_This is really happening! I really am cursed!_ He wrapped his hands around the newly formed dark brown hair covered muzzle.

He quickly hid in the shadows when he saw the guards at the front gate.

His consciousness was just hanging by a thread. Everything was blurry and red. He couldn’t let it go. Not now. _Please. Don’t do it. Don’t you dare…_ He tried to convince himself. He tried to whisper it, but all he could hear was breaths and the whines of a dog.

He peered around to look at the wall of the city. Something made him wonder if he could jump over it. Something… primal.

_You want to escape, too, huh,_ he asked the force he felt. _That makes two of us._ He readied himself to get a head start. _Remember…_

He bounded toward the wall on all fours. _Don’t hurt anyone…_

He felt a long furry thing pop out from the back of his jacket- a tail having wriggled its way out of his trousers as he made haste towards the wall.

He blacked out. He lost control. Whatever had control of him now was acting on its own- borrowing his body once again.

He leaped and hung on the edge. He scrambled on top of the stone wall and jumped down from it.

“Ah,” one of the guards yelped at the site of the beast. He had nearly drifted to sleep at his post when he saw the creature.

“Huh? What is it,” the other guard prodded. He had been looking at the forest.

“You didn’t see it,” the guard asked with mild panic and fear. “It was like a big dog! Only it was wearing clothes!” He gestured to where the dog had landed. “It ran off towards the hills!”

His companion put a hand above his head. He attempted to look out into the distance. “I don’t see it. You must be seeing things, mate!”

The guard leaned forward, his eyes now completely widened. “It was there! It leaped over the wall!”

The other guard squinted at his partner. “Sorry. I didn’t see any dog.” He shook his head. “You really need to get more sleep.”

The guard cursed under his breath. “I know what I saw,” he muttered, crossing his arms defiantly. 

* * *

 

He woke up in the middle of a clearing. He seemed to be curled up into a ball. He looked up at the now blue sky. He braced himself for whatever horrors he had done.

He sat up and leaned against a tree. He groaned tiredly, his body sore from the abuse. He looked at his now furless hands. He pressed them to his face to find it was back to normal. Then he looked to his legs. The tips of his red socks had holes from the claws that had formed the night before.

“Damn it,” he swore. He looked for his shoes- the plain brown flats he had been wearing before. They had been lost during his prowling under the light of the moon. He heaved an annoyed sigh as he leaned his head back against the tree.

What exactly did the wolf do? His memory wasn’t as violent as before. It seemed… fuzzy. He didn’t encounter any humans… At least, he thought he didn’t.

“Wolf… man now,” a voice asked. He jumped at the sound of it. He looked up to see a forest dweller pointing a spear at him. “Beast man. Cursed man.”

He raised his hands in surrender and flashed an understanding smile. “Look, I don’t mean any harm.” He slowly got up. “If you’d just let me lea-!”

“No. You threat,” the forest dweller accused. “You scare food away!”

He shook his head. “I can’t control myself in that form!” He nodded and gulped. “Look, I’ll go back to Ding Dong Dell, right? I just need to get a pair of shoes, so I can leave the area,” he attempted to negotiate.

The tribesman raised an eyebrow. “You promise to leave tonight,” he asked him. “You scare not only food but child as well,” he shouted, shoving the stick further into the traveler’s face.

He flinched at it. “Yeah! Of course! Promise!” He looked at the spear. “Just don’t kill me before I get the chance!”

The tribesman lowered his weapon. He nodded curtly. “Good. Leave.” He directed to an opening in the forest with a wave of a hand. The traveler followed suit.

* * *

 

 He did a lot of traveling after that- never staying in town and steering clear of forest dweller settlements. He had cut it too close in Ding Dong Dell.

That thing- that _beast_ that made its home inside him wouldn’t be given the satisfaction of robbing him of his humanity. He found uninhabited woods when he saw the moon was full and eventually started keeping time through the lunar cycle.

The moon’s call was strong and with it the urge to bask its glow- to hunt and feed as a wolf would.

He considered himself stronger. He counted himself more persistent. He counted himself more than the feral creature that clawed at the back of his soul.

On nights when it was strongest, he called on his familiar.

“Keep me in check, will you,” he asked him with a wry smile.

The small, stout, and red soldier nodded and pounded its chest, confirming his master’s order. That was its main duty- for now. He had found the creature when the ship he had boarded stopped off at an island for a routine cargo check.

At first, he had simply made eye contact with the Hurley. They just stared at each other until the exchange got too awkward and the man broke contact. It wasn’t until they were knots away that they found the little stowaway. The captain threatened to throw the creature overboard- he didn’t want it eating their rations. That’s when he took responsibility for the creature.

_“I’ll take him. He seems pretty useful,”_ he remembered saying to the captain after finding the thing cowering in corner of the crew’s quarters surrounded by much burlier men. They looked at him as if he had just spouted nonsense. _“Look, it hasn’t done anything, yet. It got curious is all and wandered on board.”_

He leaned against a tree as he recalled how he received his first and only familiar. He was taking shelter again from the moonlight. _“You’re sure boy? This_ is _a beast you’re dealing with,”_ a crew member reminded him. Replaying memories in his head helped distract him from the curse. _“The lad’s crazy! Let him get killed.”_ He recalled that crew member being hit in the back of the head by the captain and severely berated for such talk.

“I’ll be fine,” he echoed the memory when he saw the concerned look on his familiar’s face.

He finally got impatient and pushed his crewmates out of the way. He knelt down to the beast. _“Hey. Hey, boy,”_ he whispered to the beast. He recalled dredging up childhood memories of visiting farms with his father and learning how to approach farm animals- pigs especially. It was part of his “training”. He recalled remembering the treats Milites preferred the best- chocolate.

He remembered digging in his short red coat at the time, looking for a scrap of chocolate he had been saving for later. _“Want some chocolate,”_ he cooed as he unwrapped the bar. The creature looked at the bar curiously and then at the man offering it. The Hurley looked back at the chocolate again. He slowly approached, watching the man cautiously. A fist connected with the man’s gut before the candy was liberated from his grasp. _“Agh… Why you little-,”_ he recalled rasping as he keeled towards the side.

_“Tch, told you,”_ a crew member responded in his memory. He chuckled at the memory. The Hurley actually really enjoyed the chocolate from what he recalled. _Gunthur_ enjoyed the chocolate he corrected himself. He remembered it hugging the hell out of him after it finished, rubbing against the pendant under his chest- the pendant that now was home to his only friend.

“I suppose there’s something good that came out of all this after all, huh, boy,” he asked the Milite keeping watch in front his relaxed form. It grunted in response. “Shame what happe-,” he started to say. He winced, the thought of his unconscious actions turning his stomach once more. He never wanted that to happen again.

His nights, especially nights where the moon threatened to turn him, were often spent like that. He would recall simpler times. He would recall better times. It kept him sane. It kept him human.


	3. Chapter 2

He had to flee. People were starting to talk in Ding Dong Dell. Rumors spread about a giant dog. Some claimed it had been stealing from travelers- a claim rightly put as he _had_ stolen from travelers- but in as himself. Only now, wild accusations of the beast destroying property and running off with livestock started to emerge.

He wondered if they were true. He wondered if he _had_ been hunting animals in his feral form. He had only transformed a few times since that first incident, so it was possible. He remembered teeth piercing fur-covered flesh that squirmed. He often heard distant animal cries when he walked the streets of the town, faint scattered whiffs of memories returning to him. It was more than possible. It was… Nature.  

“The beast cannot be trusted,” some claimed. Some took it up with the guards. “Tighten security! What if it’s our children next?!”

And, to everyone’s dismay- even the thief responsible- the guards would claim that they could not do anything without the king’s exact orders.

Where did that leave the town, then? People were in danger, defenseless to any and all threat! Even the visiting werewolf himself knew this.

“They’re not safe,” he muttered once, listening to an argument a passerby was having with a guard. First, the person brought the common complaint that rats were stealing from people- a running issue the thief freely took advantage of. Then it spiraled into what the military was going to do about _him_.

Only, they had no clue. Regardless, the more people spoke of the beast, the more the words stung. Whether he was aware of his actions or not, every slaughter of livestock the wolf caused was his responsibility. What would stop him from hunting humans or grimalkin if he encountered them?

He wondered if there was a way to curb himself from harming people. He would have to experiment. 

* * *

_Do not hurt them_. He chanted in his mind. It was the simplest idea, the best idea he had. “Do not hurt them,” he reinforced in a harsh whisper. He had nothing in the way of devices outside of an old pickpocketing pistol he had brought with him. _Human’s are not your prey._ He followed, whispering it to himself as he walked through the streets of the cat-themed city. At the moment this was his only option- the process too far underway. This was his chance…

If his theories were correct, he could convince the beast to be tamed. He sniffed the air- his senses were heightening already. The night was upon him and the moon had barely begun its ascent.

He could hear the people in their homes, chatting about the day. He could taste the air around him- earth and limestone.

And fish. He was terribly hungry. He hadn’t eaten within the last day. He couldn’t find any good food around town in scrap and garbage bins, nor had he had any success pickpocketing people. Ding Dong Dell was getting worse.

His stomach let out a low rumble and he let out a ragged sigh.

He walked to the second highest building in the city, continuing his mantra. He hid his shoes where he could find them later. His feet changed so much that they slid off and he found his legs strange to walk on. He used newly formed claws at the tips of his fingers to grip the side of a chimney. He began to climb it, following his instincts.

He crouched as a dog would, his form nearing completion. _You are human… Humans are not your prey_. It was the last thing he thought before he slipped away, the wolf taking control once more.

A human boy opened the door of his home. He looked up and saw the form of the beast. He yelped and stepped back.

The wolf jumped down. He didn’t snarl… in fact, it watched what the child would do.

“You- you’re the beast,” the boy with brown hair gulped, now peering around a partially closed door.

The shadow nodded slowly- as if deciphering and eventually understanding the statement.

His stomach grumbled even louder than before. The kid, hearing the low gurgling from the creature, backed away.

“Don’t eat me…,” the boy quietly squeaked. He was noticeably shivering now.

The shadow didn’t move. There was just more gurgling.

The boy looked into the soft warm glow of his home. He looked back at the wolf. “If… if I give you some of our dinner… will you leave everyone alone?”

His ears perked up, but he didn’t dare move closer. The wolf looked down. It looked up and nodded slowly again.

The boy closed the door. When he returned, he put a plate on the ground with a whole fish and some bread on it. “Here. Please… Just don’t hurt us,” he pleaded.

When the creature didn’t move, he backed away from the plate. “Do you want it or not?!”

He stood. His hands were now operating as front paws in tandem with his legs. He moved like an actual wolf, though this time, slow and steady as he cautiously approached the meal.

As he came into the light of the door, the kid saw the beast’s true form.

“W-W…,” the child began as the wolf started to scarf down his food, muzzle first. A werewolf with medium length, wavy dark brown fur. He still had the majority of his clothes on- the green jacket, orange shirt and blue pants of a traveler he had seen earlier that day.

“Wolfman,” the boy screamed, spooking the beast in front of him.

He jolted back in shock, ears back and bright magenta eyes wide. He froze after lifting a hand.

The boy kept his eyes on him as he slowly backed away. He was almost paralyzed with fear.

When the boy ran for help, he hid in the shadows. He panicked.

“Wolfman,” a man called quizzically from inside the house.

By the time a man in commoner’s clothes got to the door, the beast had fled the scene. The only evidence left was the half-devoured plate of fish. 

* * *

 

When he awoke again, he found himself in the Golden Grove- a forest known for its plentiful variety of life. He rubbed his eyes as he looked around.

He was sore. He was tired. He was still famished. He didn’t want to move. He figured he had run all night, never once looking back.

He searched his memory. He wondered what that thing did that night.

He remembered the boy. The look in his eyes- the fear.

He sat straight up. Had he killed a human child?! Part of him wanted so desperately to go back and check!

But then something reassured him that that was not the case. His vision wasn’t soaked in red as it was last time. He did eat, but the flesh he had consumed was smoked- cooked and long dead. He didn’t think the beast knew how to cook. _He_ didn’t exactly know how to cook himself, either.

He smirked. He supposed he might as well learn. After all, what if one day he woke up with a night’s hunt uneaten?  

Nevertheless… his trick worked. He was no longer a complete threat.

For once, in the two years, he had been in the Northern Summerlands, had he felt secure with himself. He leaned his head back against a tree in a large clearing. He closed his eyes.

He wasn’t completely out of trouble yet, he knew that. Of all things, he certainly was closer to being able to relax.

He could control it to some degree- he could bind the wolf. He could keep it from hurting anyone ever again. The image of the crew being torn asunder by his very hands flashed in his head. He opened his eyes and frowned.

“I’m sorry…,” he muttered. “If I had known, you would still be alive, wouldn’t you,” he asked the phantoms in his head. He shivered and looked down at his legs. “Don’t worry, you lot. I swear on your lives, I won’t let it happen again. I _refuse_ to.”

He looked up at the canopy of the forest. He let a small, sad smile grace his lips at the beauty of it. He carried their spirits with him, even if some had been rather cold- for months they had been all he had to rely on. And they taught him so much about the world and how to navigate using the stars themselves.

The memory of his time on that boat wasn’t always pleasant, but he was thankful to have been there. He jerked himself awake from the lull his lament had caused.  

He was so… tired. He just wanted to sleep. The beast took everything he had and then some.

He struggled to keep his eyes open. He swore he had just woken up.

He looked down to find the wolf had actually _remembered_ to pick up his shoes. Another plus of preparing himself mentally for the change, he figured.

Despite his best efforts, his body had other plans. He let his head lean towards his shoulder as he slumped further against the tree. His vision blurred and eventually, he passed out once again. 

* * *

 

He lifted his head. He groaned as he rubbed his eyes.

“Finally awake, are you,” a familiar voice called to him.

He froze before lowering his arm. He looked in the direction of the sound.

He yelped as he quickly got to his feet. He backed away out of fright. “W-wolf,” he cried as he pointed at the hound.

It- no, _he-_ had a thick, wavy mane matching his own hair color. He stared him down, eyes boring into the very human eyes of his host.

It was then he noticed a faint glow- not just around the creature but himself as well. He looked down at his hand to find his old garb back on him. He flexed his fingers before clenching them in his palm. “This…,” he began. “It isn’t real.”

“Do you not realize what you’ve done?”

He looked at his hands still. “What?” He only glanced up with his eyes.

“You _stole_.”

He raised an eyebrow and looked at the wolf. “Stole? I have so I could live! Who are you, my conscience?”

An indignant grunt. “If you cared, I would not either,” the wolf seemed to say.

The prince stomped forward. “Then what?! What on earth are you on about?!”

“Give it back.”

Another bout of confusion washed over him. The more he looked at the vast grey expanse, the more confused he was about this interaction. “Again, I haven’t a clue what _it_ is!”

The wolf now towered over him. He was snarling down at the boy. “Give it back or I shall take your own by force!” He let his jaw come unhinged. He let his sharp teeth drip saliva off of them.

He lunged toward the man.

He was motionless. He felt ice run through his veins.

“Give it back, Gascon,” he roared as he dove towards his host’s face.

The mouth was the last thing he saw. 

* * *

 

The traveler woke up with a start and wide eyes. He jolted up with cold sweat sliding down his back. He took deep breaths as he gripped the area just over his heart.

He looked down at the weight on his lap, Gunthur, who stirred and peeked up at his master. He figured he must have summoned him in his sleep out of fear.

He fished the pendant out of his shirt- one he had taken from the throne room before his travels. He looked at it sadly before looking down at the familiar. “Sorry boy.”

He reached down and patted the helmet on Gunthur’s head. “Thank you for protecting me.”

The creature looked up with a small smile. It whined deeply and affectionately before it returned to his home.

He looked down in thought. _Just what was that dream? Is the curse playing games, now?_

He shook his head and got to his feet. He looked at his hands. They seemed older, more scarred. They were thin from lack of nutrition, not like the form he had taken in the dream. He scoffed. He wrote it off as just that- a feverish nightmare. Perhaps the moon had been near full that night and caused it- he couldn’t know.

He stretched and began to walk again. Perhaps if he stayed here in the Forest O’ Plenty he’d be safe from his affliction.

Perhaps this was his new life- no stealing, no werewolves, just living off what nature had to offer as it intended. 

* * *

 

Months had gone by. While there was plenty of vegetation to choose from, using Gunthur to sniff out the poisonous fruit from the edible and the occasional wild animal, something seemed off about the forest as of recent weeks. He had been living just as good as he could.

But lately, his findings were rare and his sleep was restless.

_“Leave this place, thief,”_ the wolf warned him in his dreams. _“We aren’t safe here.”_

He ignored it. It was just the curse trying to disarm him, he wagered. He was pretty safe, he assumed, with Gunthur and his pickpocketing gun at his side. Even so, he felt a rather uneasy feeling wash over him as he looked at the bushes of berries. The forest seemed darker. What imbalance he had sensed had worsened.

The creatures there had become more hostile. He found himself throwing Gunthur into battle, calling on his abilities as a familiar more often. When things got too intense, however, he would rappel into the closest tree with his pickpocketing pistol, calling the Hurley back. Should a spider-like creature climb after him, he’d send him back out to knock them aside with his incredible strength.

There, he would wait into the night until the creatures dispersed. He’d eventually rest in the tree, though poorly. 

Not even the structures he built to keep him dry during rainy days could give him shelter.

_“The forest is no longer safe,”_ it called desperately one night. It didn’t waste time jeering him.

“Stop trying to trick me-,” he began to protest.

“Are you so blind to your own instincts?!”

He shook his head. “No, but you’ve been saying that for months.” He scoffed. “We have a phrase in Hamelin- ‘the-‘,” he began to reiterate.

“’The guard who cried wolf’. Yes, I know. We share a consciousness.” The wolf seemed to shake his head. “You really _are_ in danger. I sense a powerful, wrestles force stirring at night while you sleep. Your feeble human form won’t be able to fight it.”

“Sure. And I suppose your plan for escaping if I encounter is…?” He sat at what he assumed the floor of his mindscape. “Transform into a werewolf?!”

The creature did not speak. He stared blankly at his host.

He swayed his head from side to side incredulously. “Oh, you sly bastard! You mean to pull one on me, is that it?!”

“Is living not that important to you?”

“Denying your control of me is important to me! Being _me_ is important to me!” He stood up. He stomped his foot as he threw a fit. “I can’t let you!” He pointed at the wolf. “You _won’t_ take advantage of the situation.”

The wolf sat indignantly as he stared at Gascon. “Futile breaths, you know.” It shrugged. “You’re struggling in a losing battle. I can feel it in your heart.” He snarled and bared his teeth. “You are intimidated by me. You _fear_ the curse. You’ll fight it, of course, for that is your stubborn nature. The one thing admirable of a failed prince!”

He gritted his teeth at the animal’s words. “Shut up, you stupid mutt!”

“Backed into a corner and that is all you have?” He shook his head. “Pathetic.”

He lunged forward and threw a punch.

The wolf looked down at the fist connected with the soft fur that absorbed the blow. “And what,” he began to ask as he slowly locked eyes with Gascon. “Were you expecting, _thief_?” He now loomed over the human, his teeth bared. “What could your humanity possibly hope to accomplish against an age-old curse?!”

“I-!”

“SILENCE,” the wolf howled, stirring up a strong wind to which the man cowered. “I _will_ take control when the time comes! Anything to leave this wretched forest!”

Gascon’s eyes widened underneath his arms. He peaked up at the hound. “So it isn’t just danger! There’s something you hate about this place,” he deduced. He began thinking about what history he knew but drew blank.

The wolf reared back but said nothing.

“There is! If I could just figure it out…”

The wolf’s eyes stayed on Gascon’s as he lowered his nose. “You would not be rid of me that easily. I _am_ you.”

He woke with a start.  “No, you aren’t. You’re just a side effect,” he muttered. He rubbed the back of his head. “An unfortunate hallucination of this damned curse.” He lifted his right arm and pulled down his sleeve. He looked at the scars from the puncture wounds. “I suppose I’m not altogether here as I thou- Woah!” He keeled over and fell out of the tree he was sitting in.

He got up, thankful his left side broke his fall and brushed himself off. That was when he felt them.

The ground was trembling, and the quakes were growing more intense by the second. Whatever it was… was coming right for him.

He ran. He ran as far as he could- as quick as he could. He didn’t know what it was that chased him. All he knew was that every fiber of his being was telling him to flee. Fighting whatever it was that pursued him would mean certain death on his own.

He made his way swiftly through the woods. He found a clearing- what looked to be a spring had since dried up. _This place is certainly going to ruin fast_ , he thought as he stopped to breathe. He almost dared to believe he had lost his pursuer.

The ground shook.

The trembling was still approaching.

It grew in intensity.

A full moon began to loom overhead.

He turned around to face it without thinking. He was far too late to stop himself.

According to the curse, the wolf reigned.


	4. Chapter 3

He woke up sore, the lower half of his body lying in a stream on top of a rock that sat off to the side of it. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes.

Roaring. There was a battle. A great beast wielding a shield and a battle ax had come after him.

The wolf had challenged it. He should have run.

There was blood- his blood. No wonder he felt so weak. He lifted himself just enough to crawl off the rock and onto the shore. He felt so tired.

He looked down to find a slight gash in his side, his shirt torn. It wasn’t really bleeding quite yet thanks to the rushing water that cleaned it. He looked around to find a pile of grass and straw not far from the rock. _I must have grabbed some before passing out in the stream._

He crawled to it, the bleeding starting yet again. He managed to sit up and apply the plant matter to his abdomen, hissing as the pressure brought pain with it.

“G-Gunthur…,” he called, summoning the Hurley to his aid.

The stout warrior popped out of the pendant. He looked weak from his master’s current state but ready to help.

“Sorry, boy,” he apologized at first. “Could you do me a favor…?”

He nodded and gave a tired grunt.

“I need-,” he winced. “I need you to get me some sort of string…”

The creature straightened from his hunch and turned its body to look around. It shrugged and looked at him in confusion.

“I know…! I know…! Not a lot of options…,” he rasped, the pain sinking in. “Just try for me, would you?”

The Hurley grunted again and pounded his chest with his right fist, confirming his master’s orders. With that, it left.

He looked to the sky- the sun was still high in the air. It was warm, warm as the southern areas of Autumnia.

He thought of home, of his brother, his father. He thought of his actions so far- the promise he made. _Had_ he become any better?

He’d go home when the time was right- when his brother needed him. As if he would ever! That promise was a failsafe- a carefully worded lie so he would never return. He almost scoffed but the injury was too deep.

What good would a thief be? What good would a _werewolf_ be? He was his family’s mortal enemy- a threat to the throne. If his father didn’t care for him then, he’d loathe him now. He had done the job before he could let the old man do it himself.

And yet, he was lying to himself… What if… What if Marcassin ever _did_ need him? His younger brother was pretty powerful but if Shadar could mess with the cat king of Ding Dong Dell or even trap one of the sages, where would he be…?

 _“I sense your concern, young prince,”_ an ominous voice called.

Forgetting his injury, he jolted up. “Ah,” he exhaled, clutching the wound.

“Who goes there,” he shouted, reaching for his gun. He looked around for its source.

 _“The son of a dead king. A lowly thief. Hmmph,”_ it taunted. _“How far you have fallen, Prince Gascon.”_

The words, “dead king” rung in his ears. His blood ran cold, cold enough that the wound didn’t ache. “Wh-what are you getting at?! _‘Dead king’_?!                    

The area became encased in shadow. The wind seemed to howl around him, swaying the golden trees up the hill.

Witnessing this, his mouth hung open. _Shadar. The Dark Djinn._ A wave of anxiousness and fear coursed through him. His heart beat louder. The wound bled worse. He wanted to run. He attempted to stand but found himself on his knees when his body reminded him of his meek condition.

 _“How stubborn you are… You’re holding yourself back in order to save yourself.”_ He heard him scoff. _“Admirable but in vain.”_

A purple light flew to him. It dove towards his chest and, at that moment, the pain in his side seemed minuscule compared to the pain in his heart. He writhed and convulsed as he clutched the area. He tried to hold it in. _Take Heart. No…_ He thought as he fought the Djinn’s attempt to break him.

It tore through his hands and into the sky. _“What fight you have… Perhaps I took the wrong piece.”_ A devious chuckle. _“No matter. you will no longer threaten my plans, ‘your majesty’,”_ Shadar taunted.

A tiny dark orb fell to the thief’s mangled form and nestled itself where the light had been.

_“Should you live, you will still be no use! Your curses will doubly damn you! As one such has already done your brother!”_

At that, he looked up at the form. “What…? _What_ of my brother?! And what did you do to my father, you bastard?! Did… did _you_ kill him?!,” he demanded, only wincing after his outburst.

_“Oh? Didn’t you know?”_

He found himself clutching his head as visions clouded his head. People ailing, workshops and factories were in ruin or worse- running far too much. The citizens were suffering. His father, the emperor and great sage of Hamelin, nowhere to be seen. And at the top of it all… his brother, letting it all burn.

The kingdom was dying! His home was falling apart! And he wasn’t there to stop it!

 _“Let them fester in your head and let the nightmare burn your heart- there is nothing left there for you, young prince,”_ the voice called.

Shadows vanished as soon as they had come. The sun unjustly shined on him as he lay there on the grassy ground, bleeding out.

He remembered his wound when he attempted to move again. He wanted it to stop. He wanted it to go away. He wanted it to just… end.

He wanted it to end right there and then.

Gunthur returned with a traveler, walking rather sluggishly. When he reached his master, it jumped into the creature cage.

“You, sir? You’re familiar found me…,” was all he could make out. Everything was so blurry when he heard it. He didn’t even feel Gunthur return to the pendant.

He blacked out once again.

* * *

He woke up in a dark room, the only light filtering in the light of the moon. He lay just outside of its glow. He felt it’s call but couldn’t find the strength to move. He counted whoever had saved him fortunate.

He felt an ache at his right side and he reached to feel for it. His hand grazed tightly wrapped cloth and then skin.

He found no kind of clothing- his shirt and coat gone. He furrowed his brow in concern, but let his head fall back with a gruff and tired sigh.

He felt helpless. It was times like this he missed his days as a small child when he had little to worry about. It was times like this when he dared to miss his father and brother.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He bit his tongue in anguish. How could it be? How could he have died? Why was his younger brother letting their people down?! How could he?

 _He’s ill! He has to be! He wouldn’t dare!_ He thought as the tips of his fingers clutched the front of his hair and the heel of his palms pressed into his eyes. He lied there attempting to process the grief he felt for what seemed like hours.

When he fell asleep dwelling on it, the images flashed before his eyes. Whole buildings on fire. Bodies in the streets. What citizens alive laying almost as limp as the dead, their chests barely breathing.

He stood on the highest balcony overlooking the carnage. Terror gripped him as the flames rose higher and distant screams met his ears.

His eyes snapped open when the flames barreled toward him, threatening to take him as well.

“I- I have to-,” he struggled to say. “I… I need to- I want-,” he stammered. _…What do you want? What do_ I _want…?_ He asked himself. Or so he thought.

“Be still, sir,” his generous caretakers begged him.

He quieted down, but only vocally. The questions burned in his mind. He whimpered in both pain and distress.

“There,” the person said as they finished redressing his wound. “Now try to rest.”

 _“Now try to rest,”_ he recalled his father saying to him when he had been ill. He let his head fall to its right side. He trembled as he let out quiet, mournful sobs.

He cried himself to sleep. He had lost everything…

More screams. The town seemed distorted.

 _“You could have prevented this,”_ he heard his late father shout.

He felt the street slant beneath him, making him slide towards an inferno. He attempted to regain his grip.

 _“And yet… Your brother- whom you’re supposed to watch over- has torn it all down.”_ He saw the king sneer at him as he looked down the slope. _“A disgrace to the empire and a disgrace to me.”_ He began walking down it.

He clenched his teeth and looked away. The king was just in front of him now.

 _“Perhaps you now have a station even lower than simply being a talentless prince… Death is the only lot in life you shall take,”_ the man spat. He kicked at the hand clinging to the outcropping of rock.

 _“F-father… please! I- I didn’t know,”_ he weakly cried. _“Please have mercy on me, father!”_

 _“It is too late for that, Gascon.”_ With one final blow, he lost grip on the stone and fell into the fiery chasm below.

He woke again with a sharp inhale and gripped the sheets. He briefly recalled the nightmare but couldn’t recall what had happened.

He was losing his grasp on his memory. Something was tearing it away- or at least it felt like it… He struggled to hold on. _I have to go- I_ need _to go! I need to go to… Damn. Where is it I need to go?! I just had it! It’s urgent! What was it?!_

He writhed in the bed, growling as he tried to desperately hold onto the memory.

He recalled his brother… He recalled his promise… And then they were gone.

_Don’t focus on that now. I think…_

He shook his head. It was all he had and he would fight to keep it. He tried to retain them.

And yet, as his memories of his father, both the good and the bad, flashed before his eyes, he found himself giving in and letting them slip away, day by day. He wondered for a moment if it was better this way. No one remembered him anyway.

And then he would insist at taking hold of his brother’s memory- the small cheery face that had many a time stuck by his side all those years ago. Once, he considered him a nuisance, having to haul the little tyke around with him but now…? A source of stability.

And then one day, he, too, was gone. Every moment he had spent with his brother, every promise and every squabble, vanished.

He lay still, despite his wound being mostly healed, trying to reach out more in his mind. Something was missing… something important. And for that reason, he wept for it.

“P-please…,” he whimpered one night. He was almost fully recovered now.  

 _I have to move! I have to move! I_ need _to move! I want to go home! I have to find it…!_ Came a flood of thoughts, each filled with just as much longing as the last, each just as glaring.

He began to writhe again, this time with muffled shouts. In his delirium, he rolled off the bed, in the clear view of the window and a full moon casting its glow upon him, with a loud thud.

He could feel the change already. He curled up, not bothering to resist, as he was too busy trying to fight his own psyche.

The door opened, and a soft orange glow partially illuminated the room. A man carrying clothes came to investigate the sounds. When he saw what he had become, the clothes, too, were dropped on the floor.

“A monster,” he shouted, sprinting in the opposite direction. “You saved a monster!”

The wolf rose, wincing from the injury. He smelled the faint scent of recently washed clothes- but still _his_ clothes. He approached it and began to dawn the familiar rags and retrieving his gun.

Two men entered his view, both brandishing knives. A threat.

He lunged forward. 

* * *

Blood. He remembered the color. He remembered being hungry. He remembered tasting blood. He remembered…

He woke up leaning against a rock. He rubbed his forehead as he leaned his head back.

“What happened,” he wondered. A pang of hunger in his stomach was what he truly remembered. Nothing more.

And then it was sated.

His eyes widened. He jolted forward. He remembered blood- the scent, the taste.

And then the screams. The fear.

He clenched his teeth and looked down. “I… I did it again.”

It was just as before, only he had the distinct memory of taste this time. “No. It’s far worse than that! How could I have…” He checked his mouth, opening and closing it. He didn’t recall the texture of meat.

He looked at his hands. They were clean. He looked at his clothes- clean too…

 _How do you have the forethought in all of that madness to clean up after yourself?!_ He wondered. He’d consider it incredible if not for the atrocity.

He shuddered in disgust at his own actions. Theft was one thing. Murder was another.

“I… I suppose I should sit here,” he contemplated to himself. “I don’t want to hurt or kill anyone else.”

He frowned at the cloudless sky. Some part of him knew what that meant for his chest ached. But as it was, he figured he deserved such a fate. He had blood on his hands and the memories to back it up.

He gripped his chest and leaned against the rock. “I’m sorry,” he began for the lives he had taken. “I’m sorry. I _failed_ you,” he apologized again for them- them and those, whoever they may be, he looked up to.

He closed his eyes once more.

 _"You're giving up again,"_ a voice from within questioned, suddenly.

His eyes flickered open.

The area was much darker than before. What surrounded him came up to mid-calf on his legs- a viscous dark liquid. He looked at his hands and clothes. The red petticoat was stained with it, his hands even more so.

"Did you once think about the current clarity of your thoughts? Or are you that blind," the wolf snapped.

He looked to him and found that the cursed animal half submerged in the liquid, peering up at him.

"Laying down, for once?" He grinned. 

"No. Like you, the nightmare robbed me of my strength."

"You killed those people! You have plenty."

He growled. "We killed those people, Gascon. Why else would we be giving up?! You've realized this..."

He freed his head from the bog. "I propose we take turns with what's left of our restraint... we will starve otherwise."

“You’re just a hallucination! _I’ll_ be the only one conserving my restraint,” he shouted at the dog.

“And what would you do should you become me?”

He shook his head. “You’re just a manifestation of guilt from my curse! You don’t exist!”

“Again, with that moronic claim,” he howled. “I am more than just a dream and you know it!”

“What’s more is that I’ve tricked myself into thinking that this curse has an identity all its own! Like a separate consciousness! I’m sick and a danger to everyone- that’s what I am!” He gestured to himself as he glared at the creature. “I’ll be fine without your deal!” With that, he turned and crossed his arms.

“And then we’ll die!”

He glanced back. “Good. I don’t want to spread this plague to the Summerlands, either. It’s for the best.”

“That’s a broken heart talking,” it roared. “You want to just give up! You _want_ to admit defeat. You _want_ to believe in the reality that you’ve failed those who you care for most! Because it would be so much easier to do so,” he cried from the ooze.

“Who did I fail,” he asked the wolf. “Do you know? Because I don’t.”

The wolf shook his head. “I cannot recall.”

Gascon reared his head back as he turned to face the beast once more. “Then where is your merit, wolf?! If I can’t recall if I failed them, how the hell did I, then?!” He threw his left hand at nothing.

“Now you want to ignore the fact that they existed! All because you have no memory of them,” he snapped at his host. “What do you truly want?! We’ve lived on the streets for this long, surely you have some sense of resourcefulness.”

The man stood there in deep contemplation. He looked down at his hands. He looked down at his stained garb.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Home… Hamelin… He remembered that at least. “I want to go home… so I…”

The wolf raised his head further, the ears perking up in anticipation. “Go on,” it encouraged.

He exhaled. “So, I can find a cure for this curse. So, I can rest easy, for once.” He opened his eyes, the burning buildings flashing in his mind. The image of the burning city briefly merged with it, yet the wolf and the ooze stayed constant. The sludge seemed to boil around their forms at the thought. “So, I can save it. For what reason other than it is my home- I have to save it! Who else can…?”

“Then you really _want_ to live,” the wolf growled. It sat up. “And if you want to live,” he yawned as he stretched his front legs, dragging his paws through the viscous bubbling liquid. “You should value what you have left of your restraint. We are running on limited supply.”

It stood and trotted over to stare down at Gascon. “I currently have the majority. This side of me…” He locked eyes with the stubborn prince. He chuckled, bearing a beastly grin. “Should count itself fortunate that I am so cautious of my actions, that no matter the form I seek self-preservation upon all others.”

“You aren’t me,” Gascon shouted. “Stop talking like that!” He balled up his fists. “What good is self-preservation if you just end up killing people?! They’ll put me down like a wild animal if you get caught!”

“Still blind to your reality,” he scoffed as he shook his head. “Will I ever change?” He leaped forward, passing the prince and dripping black ooze in his wake. 

* * *

As the months passed by, rumors started to rise. The citizens of Castaway Cove had discovered two dead among them. They said that claw marks could be found throughout the residence along with cracked door frames. The dead were completely eviscerated. The identities could only be confirmed by neighbors who also mentioned howling and roaring when anyone asked- complete with sullen and frightened gazes. 

The myth of the Castaway Cove beast had been born. 

The man responsible caught wind of this rumor. It sickened him... but he had already decided that he'd continue on with his life.

He stuck to the lower echelons of society, where the mad and the desperate resided. He had no other choice. The moment he thought himself in control was often the moment his lack of restraint kicked in and reminded him of how broken he truly was.

It seemed his heart finally had landed on what truly moved him: theft. This was a long time coming- he had been doing this since he was a prince, finding thrill in stealing much-needed parts for an invention when those parts were off limits. 

He relied on this skill in Ding Dong Dell to get him by. He had perfected his pickpocketing gun during his time on that doomed ship for... Well, in case of pirates, really.

But now it was all he could focus on, whether he starved or not. 

And indeed he did. He sometimes went for a whole week without food- his other curse, the wolf, supplementing that and just barely keeping him alive.

There were days when his remaining sense of restraint, what was left of the piece constantly passed between the two halves of his soul, would be completely overwhelmed with hunger. His body ached from the lack of nutrients coursing through his system, his rations depleted as soon as he received them at times.

There would be instances where he’d even chew on his own coat just to sate his appetite, that is until he spied something worthwhile,

He would be fine if not for all the times he kept blacking out. Each time, he had spied something valuable or interesting. Each time, it would be minutes to hours as “himself” lost to stealing something worthless.

He was looking for something, he just didn’t know what. A purpose? A memento? A reminder? He didn’t know. He’d remember it when he saw it.

Except this meant he would wake beaten up or hurt. This would mean waking up in jail unaware of his crimes at times.

It got worse each time. Each time he would see a flash of that space where his hallucinations and imaginary conversations with the curse took place. Each time, the dark, viscous layer crept higher.

The wolf was not unaffected. More and more claims of beasts attacking residences started to rise- a truth the man hated to hear…

But from what he could hear, the wolf had taken to attacking family pets rather than people. And for that, he was thankful.

Or at least, he hoped he was only going after animals. He _hoped_ his lack of restraint hadn’t caused another death.

It did nothing but strengthen the nightmare. As usual, Hamelin in ruin, people destitute in the street- no one to help- not even their great sage. He would watch as the familiar form of a werewolf hunched over a victim. Each time he approached it, the beast would turn to face him with a bloodied muzzle and glowing red eyes. 

Each time he would get just a little closer, frightened for the person the wolf had slain. But the eyes- those wretched piercing red eyes. They bore into his very soul.

When he finally reached it in this hellish reoccurring nightmare, he looked fearfully into those eyes and couldn’t tear his focus away from them.

“You did this,” a distorted voice came from the werewolf. It loomed over him, a hulking mass of black fur and muscle. Its teeth showed in a permanent snarl. As it growled, saliva dripped from its jowls, the very same that formed steam from the corners of its mouth.  “ _You_ did this,” it blamed him.

He recalled looking down but he could still feel those eyes on him. “P-please… who did you kill this time?”

Before he could get his answer, he would wake. And then that’s all the nightmares were from that point on. No answer- just a feeling of guilt and dread. He wondered if he had unconsciously taken another victim.


	5. Chapter 4

He hadn't heard any more rumors about his cursed form, now formally known as the Summerlands Beast. He surely had become quite a fearful tale. Many started to prepare themselves for an encounter with the creature. 

But no one knew truly what he looked like. Anonymity was his security- a benefit the wolf took advantage of to scrounge food from farms nearby.

The years passed on and he continued to go unnoticed and unpunished.

The guilt ate him alive. He waited for the day when someone would recognize him and finally end the reign of terror he unconsciously brought on the continent. It would all come crumbling down one day and he feared each day would be the one. He would gladly turn himself in, but he knew the consequences. He wouldn’t be able to return to Hamelin if they knew.

That wasn’t to say he hadn’t been to prison- he had, but he was fortunate enough that the buildings had candlelight only to light the halls. He was usually out within the week, though it only felt like a day to his warped sense of time.

He had moments of clarity- brief and fleeting- when he could make a sound decision. One such when he encountered a young Al Mamoon girl valiantly trying to assist the Great Sage Rashaad against Shadar.

He recognized her from a distant memory. He remembered seeing her _somewhere_ in his past. From what he could discern from the frightened public was that she was Rashaad’s daughter.

It happened like a flash of lightning. She was playing the harp, fending off attacks of rampaging local beasts stirred up by the Dark Djinn as her father attempted to face him directly. She was keeping them back with soothing melodies that, even, for a moment, lulled him into a false sense of security. Suddenly, the music stopped and she began to back away from the creatures that had entered the town square.

She backed into a corner and crouched, her face wrought with fear.

He had to help. He _needed to_. Without a second thought, he leaped from an alleyway and fired his gun at the creatures. The sound alerted them, and they stopped advancing on the girl.

“Come and get me,” he shouted, running for the exit of the city.

The creatures followed suit and he ran as far as he could, his next want to just escape the hoard that he had just called upon himself.

He knew what had happened to her. Shadar. He did the same thing he did to him to that poor girl to prove a point to the Great Sage. He knew, without a doubt, he would be devastated to see what had become of his precious daughter.

And if he had reached all the way into Al Mamoon to affect Rashaad, then the Cowlipha herself was just as doomed.

The years after only proved it to him. Just like Ding Dong Dell, the kingdom started to suffer from numerous cases of heartbreak and economic despair. He counted it a miracle he could even _hold_ the memory in his mind- for the short period he could retain it, that was.

His restraint was reaching its limit. He was committing daylight robbery after daylight robbery. He wasn’t even using his gun- just waiting for someone to turn a blind eye.

One day, he saw a couple of kids and a fairy head towards Castaway Cove. His heart skipped a beat when he recognized the girl- seemingly unafraid and eager to fight whatever beasts they encountered. While broken and worn down as he was, he couldn’t help but be thankful for her health.

Then something caught his eye- a wand and what looked like a spell book from a long-forgotten memory. The boy she was with was a wizard, which was surely a rare find with Shadar’s darkness consuming the world.

Something told him that that kid was his ticket home. When he thought about it, he had never really attempted to leave the continent. He was so distracted by his curses that the thought never occurred to him!

 _What would get his attention_ , he wondered. He followed them and eventually beat them to their destination. _I need something- something I can use… Damn, that kid looked familiar._  

Before he could plot any further than that, he spied an old cauldron. He’d seen it before when he passed through. For a moment, he forgot what he was even focused on.

Another day, another daylight robbery. To him, this was innocent compared to the werewolf’s actions. He hadn’t hurt anyone else, despite how little he had left to hold himself back. It was only a matter of time.

“Stop! Thief,” the merchant shouted as he ran, his pleas falling on deaf ears.

When he finally stopped to inspect his prize, he realized- he couldn’t open it! He had no magic! It was as useless to him as it was to the peddler.

When the trio confronted him, he realized what luck he had stumbled into. The wizard would be able to open it. He might as well have it, even! With that, he threw onto the group, tossing it at them and using the commotion to make a speedy escape.

Instinct had taken over. All his days of thieving and running away from danger in Ding Dong Dell, all the times he had evaded, and bribed guards to get away with whatever deed he had done despite how compromised he may have been had become second nature by this point. He ran while making a quip instead of actually stopping and talking to the three- a task he had planned on doing.e

His first thought was to run away to avoid the consequences and that’s exactly what he did. He didn’t even stay in Castaway Cove to see what would happen when they opened it! A genie, probably, would pop out and challenge them to prove their worth. Alchemy- that was the purpose of the cauldron. Or perhaps it really was just a stupid old pot sealed shut by the previous owner who didn’t know their own strength.

Whatever it was, he only knew he had blown his chance to bargain. He’d have to find another way to get passage home.

The memories that the Dark Djinn had planted in him flashed in his head, reminding him of what he needed to do. He had to stop what was happening. He had to go home. He had to fix things before anyone- or anyone _else_ \- died. He just had to figure out how.

He spied them leaving Castaway Cove. _They cannot know your secret. You need them. You need them to go home._ He had thought, peering from around a tree. He decided to follow in the distance. He didn’t want to get close to them. They couldn’t know he was there… or what he had done.

He managed to reach the city before them. As they passed by, he hid behind a wall. He peered around when he thought no one was looking.

He had to be sure of his suspicions. His gut was screaming at him to find out more. A slave to a lack of restraint, he listened.

“So where do we go again,” the boy asked, seemingly forgetting prior directions.

The fairy piped in, “Weren’t you listening, cloth ears? To where the Cowlipha is, en’t it? The palace, mun, the palace!”

The harpist added, “It’s beyond the town square! I’ll show you the way!”

He had just started to get comfortable when the girl he had saved a few years back almost spotted him. He quietly squeaked in surprise as he hid again.

“What’s wrong,” the boy asked her.

He couldn’t tell, but her next response seemed like she shook her head. “It’s just… I felt like we were being followed, but…” She stopped short, probably looking around. “I think it’s probably just someone shopping.”

“Are you sure?”

Possibly a nod…? “Yeah! Let’s get going, shall we?”

That was all he needed to hear. He slunk away to work out his next part of the plan. Just how would he get intel on why they needed to see the Cowlipha- _if_ the guards let those three enter? Where would he…?

A brief flash of memory hit him. He remembered the guards from Hamelin and that Al Mamoon also had such guards privy to both the palace and the town. He couldn’t remember exactly why he knew it but that didn’t matter.

What did matter is that he needed to get one to spy for him? He put his silver tongue to use and found one.

“Pardon me,” he began with a cheeky smirk. “Don’t suppose you could do me a solid and listen into a conversation or two from inside the palace?”

“I know you, thief. Why would I do any favors for you,” he immediately jeered. Damn, it was one who had heard of him before. He counted himself lucky no one knew of his other curse.  

“I can get you a decent sum of guilders if you do. Or whatever you want. Just name it. We all know money and food are quite tight, but I have my ways of finding some,” he fibbed, smoothly gesturing by twirling his hands. 

The guard eyed him suspiciously before looking down. He seemed to contemplate the vagrant’s offer. “Fine,” the guard finally agreed to his delight. “One-thousand guilders.”

The thief nodded. “Consider it done.” With that, he awaited his precious intel. 

* * *

They were actually able to get in, according to his spy. They fed her cheese and attempted to reason with her, so they could ask her for a favor of some kind. 

It seemed she was suffering from a lack of restraint herself.

He had to say, he felt bad for her out of solidarity of having the same curse. His pity was short-lived, however, when he found she had been eating morning noon and night.

What he’d give to be royalty at that moment. He remembered how hungry he had been and instantly felt a pang of jealousy towards the queen of Al Mamoon.

No matter, he was surely reminded of the man’s need for payment.

“After the next time we meet,” he promised, lying through his teeth. It wasn’t like he’d be returning to Al Mamoon anyway afterward right…? “Just get me the information and I’ll have it!”

“You mean you’ll steal it,” the guard accused.

He shrugged in response. “Whatever. You’ll get what’s yours, don’t you worry.”

He could feel something beginning to give in his heart. There was something about this group that weighed on him. Perhaps something important had happened between them.

He forgot all about the guard… and he supposed the guard forgot all about him as he never encountered him again. He saw the three return to the palace and he quickly hid behind a milk fountain. When they left he spied two new objects in their hands- a letter and a photo.

He snuck as quietly as he could behind them to get a better view.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the image of the current Great Sage of Hamelin staring back at him through the photo.

 _Marcassin_. Was what he remembered. That was one of the people he had forgotten. His brother. He _knew_ it was his brother. He could feel it in his heart.

He clutched the area just over his chest and clenched his teeth. He seethed in pain as he doubled over. A terrible image flashed before him- the werewolf crouched over the body.

 _Marcassin!_ He trembled. He would kill him. He was reminded of why he didn’t want to go home. He was a threat to both him and Hamelin.

But then… he recalled a promise. If Hamelin was truly in such a state, he had to live up to it. He had to go home. His brother _needed_ him, and he wasn’t there to aid him! He looked up and began to slowly follow them again- a new drive taking hold.

Nothing mattered anymore. If he caught up to them, he wouldn’t care if they saw him. He’d lift the picture and the letter of passage from them and get on that boat- at least, that’s what he could discern from the seal the Cowlipha had used.

And he had! He turned around and had to gloat, too- an action he later berated himself as he found himself face to face with the ship captain. He no longer had control. He was arguing but, he also wasn’t.

He needed to get home before anything happened to Marcassin. There was so much he had to right, now. He was doing it all wrong. If he was doing it all wrong… it was only a matter of time before he’d lose what may be his only family left- let alone his home.  

Then those kids came into the fray. That was it. That was what sent him careening into the abyss.

Everything began to go dark. Something wasn’t right. Was it the werewolf? It was midday…

Had his other curse triggered an unprecedented transformation? He couldn’t be sure.

He wanted to warn them, but his body wouldn’t let him. All he could do was clutch his hair and scream in agony as void consumed him.

Then he saw nothing. 

* * *

Adrift in darkness, he lay. His hair flowed freely above his head- loose and free of the knots he had grown accustomed to.

How long he had been asleep, he did not know.

His fingers twitched, and he blearily opened his eyes. He barely lifted his head. He lacked the energy. He spied a flicker of light in the distance.

He closed his eyes again as he laid back down his head. So many times, when he had been here many a time before, had he tried to reach toward such false promise only to be harshly reminded through pain and torment.

He weakly lifted his hand. His fingers twitched again and furled towards his palm. He let them fall. This was the end. There was no going back. He supposed he deserved this. He thought, once, he could fight the werewolf’s curse but losing restraint had only proven how monstrous he could be.

No one would save him. He had been alone all this time. He had no one to trust nor did he feel deserving of anyone else’s after what he had unconsciously done.

 _“Hang in there! It’s almost done,”_ he heard someone call through the darkness.

His eyes snapped open. There had been no other voice before now. Nothing had cut through enough to reach him completely in this particular space- the space where the wolf resided.

He wondered where it was…? The darkness shrouded the beast if it existed.

He had poured all of his energy in holding his being together- his drive, his sense of self. What little of that piece of heart he had, he relied on it, emphasized it. He and the wolf had shared it, sadly weakening it further. Even as he had thought the worst of himself, even at the brink of despair, he had pressed on through the years of madness- all to keep living.

He had fed most of his true self to whatever claimed him in hopes of living.

When he broke down on that dock in the small fishing town, the side that fought lost. His heart was in pieces and he was overtaken by darkness.

He gave up. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of reaching for straws- for false hope.

But there it was- a voice had broken through to him! He struggled against the darkness and managed to flip himself over to face the star in the distance. This was more than an object- this was more than a picture!

He reached toward the light.

And then _he_ appeared. The wolf. He stood in front of him and the glow of the light illuminated his curly mane.

“I finally have a way out! I can chase it!”

“Not yet. It’s too soon,” he growled at his host. His magenta eyes glowed in the dark. “You aren’t ready.”

He pushed himself closer to the curse’s true form. “Look! I’m exhausted! I just want to be myself again!”

“You will never be yourself again as long as I am here, Gascon.”

He pushed against his fur. “I know that! But that isn’t what I’m getting at and you know it!” He felt his feet drag in the thick liquid that surrounded them and tainted them. “I want to be whole again! I want to be able to reason again! That light is the answer!”

“It is not,” he barked. He stayed put. “You will come out just as broken as before!” As he said that, the darkness began to flow around him. It started to thin, weaken.

He hesitated. For a moment he was back to normal… Well, as normal as he could be in his state. He was sore from whatever fight he had just endured. “Ow… hang on… Where am I?”

“…You got taken over by a nightmare,” the fairy with a thick accent answered.

He slipped away. Just like that.

So, it wasn’t the wolf’s doing, for once. He was… going to live. He couldn’t help but feel bittersweet.

He had frozen with his face half buried in the fur. “I was… Awake. I was… _me_.” He started pushing on the beast once more.

The wolf looked at the light. “It is done. The evil has been vanquished,” he sagely observed. He turned to squint at the man in prince’s garb pushing against him adamantly. “Stop." 

“I will not!” He kept pushing on the large beast. “You are a mere curse! A plague! A vision that I conjured up out of fear and loneliness! I won’t let you have a say in this,” he argued.

“And yet I kept you alive when you were doubly cursed,” he mused. “You’re pretty damn stubborn, Gascon.” He sighed. “Even while hindered by malnutrition thanks to you, thief, I was able to feed myself, thus saving both of us.”

“You’re expecting a thank you, you selfish wolf?! You just want to take over!”

Silence. He stared down at him. He had no answer for his actions. “I simply want to live.” He sighed. “It is broad daylight outside of this space. You _know_ I can’t take form. I would ask you to have patience, but I contain the last of your restraint- the last of _you_.” It stood and lowered its head and took the magenta petticoat in its mouth. He picked him up. “It’s a wonder how I’ve managed to keep up this façade for this long…”

The man looked at the wolf with wide eyes. “What are you doi-,” he began to ask.

A bright green ball light flew through the space in the dark. It consumed what was left of the thin veil of shade that surrounded them. It then dove for the wolf and his host.

Warmth radiated through his body. He witnessed the black and purple splotches from the miasma disintegrate and the pain with it. He looked up at the wolf to confirm what had happened.

His once brightly glowing magenta eyes had dimmed. The same marks that covered Gascon had also left his fur. “Now you can go,” the beast signaled, a smile in his voice. He lifted him further from the ground.  

“Wha- What the hell,” Gascon shouted in response.

Without answering, he flung the man up towards the light.

For a moment, he locked eyes with the beast.

 _We have a lot of work to do If I am to ever right my wrongs._ If _I can right my wrongs._ He could almost hear the wolf say.

He supposed he was getting one last chance to save himself.

He felt his heart beat heavily as it pieced itself together. He set his mouth and nodded. _Thank you, wolf._


	6. Chapter 5

He tentatively stepped back, cornered on the dock by the three who had suddenly confronted him. He gripped the picture of his brother tightly, nearly crumpling it.

Everything seemed… off. He felt as if he had been at sea for years- rocked about by the mad waves of the ocean. Now he had found land, the stability of it strange to him at first but welcoming.

He wondered if this feeling was temporary, fleeting. He wondered when he would be distracted by want of something- anything.

He _wanted_ the picture, but only because he wanted to remind himself of his purpose in case he lost sight of it again. He glanced at it from the corner of his vision.

Everything came back to him- everything that was _real_. He still didn’t know if those visions he saw were false but what he did know was that they indicated that something had gone terribly wrong with his brother.

The thief wondered if this was yet another trick by his broken consciousness. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He rubbed the left side of his face as he began to readjust to reality.

“Hey, give us back our things,” the wizard demanded as he extended a hand toward the man.

He raised an eyebrow as his left hand fell back to his side. This kid was really agitated about this photo. _Things_. He reminded himself. There was something else. Then he remembered the letter, and from the writing, one of royal permission to use a naval vessel. Coupled with the image of Marcassin, he was reminded of what exactly he was doing there.

Why the kid so desperately wanted the picture of his younger brother was another mystery- one he aimed to solve. “What’s the matter? It’s just a picture of some pretty boy,” he mocked, waving it about and feigning confusion. “No need to get your knickers in a twist!” He dramatically shrugged and leaned to the side. Surely that would prompt some bargaining.

He felt slick when he could resort to such complex trickery. No longer did he have to rely on the same two simple and tired old tricks.

The boy questioned the thief on why he had stolen the items- quickly pointing out the flaw in his charade.

He claimed he couldn’t let it get in the public eye- “doing the rounds,” as he so eloquently put it- which was just another lie to get them to part with it. That was already proving to be quite the challenge.

Then an idea occurred to him- he had a little cash it seemed. It wasn’t a lot- around fifty guilders or so, but more than enough to buy a silly old picture. Maybe they’d let him keep it, then. Maybe if he tried to _persuade_ them with a little money in a gesture of good and fair will, it would renew at least a little trust in their eyes. Perhaps enough to let him on the boat just to get him home.

“Tell you what,” he began, putting his hands together in front of him, a small smile on his face in an effort to look as unthreatening as possible.  “I’ll buy it off you! That’s fair, right?” He leaned forward and gave a slightly smaller dramatic shrug than the first with a wider smile.

But the boy would not have it. He shook his head. “No! It’s not for sale! We need it!”

He scoffed at that. Again, what would these kids need this picture for? Did they even know who it was? What kind of business did they have with his dear brother?

“Oh yeah,” he began to goad. “Need it for what?” He stepped forward, placing a hand on his hip. He displayed a cheeky grin as he looked down at the pair.

The wizard considered his options. The man seemed like he was willing to bargain at least. “If… If I tell you,” he started to reason. “Then would you give it back."

He gave a tentative response that he would… probably give it back. He crossed his arms and leaned the side the picture resided in away from the boy. He frowned skeptically. So far this was getting nowhere. He was beginning to grow tired of trying to work with them- all for this one photo.

He swore when he was heartbroken that could have been the tipping point of his consciousness- he remembered that much.

Then the words “one of the great sages” caught his attention. They were supposedly on their way to Hamelin at that very moment, he recalled. They were seeking him out to help that kid get stronger, according to the fairy- all in an attempt to bring down the very wretch that had caused so much unnecessary ruin and death.

These three were insane. To think they could bring _him_ down was a fever dream. If the Great Sage of Al Mamoon, the girl before him, and the kings and queens and the sages of the three kingdoms- his brother and father included- were all struck down by this man, who were they to even dream it?!

And they wanted to drag Marcassin into it, _again_?! Were they even listening to themselves? He laughed in their face, trying to discourage them. He made it sound like a farce and even hinted at the inevitable defeat after defeat he witnessed. He felt his heart sink when he recalled the fact that his father was one of the likely victims of the Dark Djinn. He even slightly began to wonder if Shadar was the reason his curse even existed.

Regardless, he shook his head at the group. “You don’t stand a chance,” he claimed, shrugging once more.

Then the harpist spoke up. She claimed that the boy- Oliver, was it…? She told of how he had managed to help Rashaad return to his duties as a Great Sage. Then she claimed that he was the sole reason she was back in good spirits again.

He looked between them with a mounting change of heart. Was this kid really as good as that? He could encourage someone as lost as the Great Sage of Al Mamoon back into fighting spirits? He even returned his daughter back to the way she was before that fateful day it seemed- something he thought no shorter than a miracle!

Maybe Oliver was the key to helping him cure him of his werewolf-ism. He turned away in thought, crossing his arms once more.

They couldn’t know. Not yet. Not until they were as far away from the Summerlands as possible. Besides his lineage, which he also neglected to state, it was too soon to tell how they’d react to _that_ identity. They probably wouldn’t believe either, anyway.

In any case, he figured he could use these two’s help with Hamelin- or at least reaching there. Besides, all they had was a fairy to guide them, and while the gnome was good for a good bit of wisdom as fairies were, he really couldn’t be much use in combat. That… and a small part of him absolutely detested the creature. There was something just… about what he was.

Was it just the way he talked? The amount of talking? The shape or size? He couldn’t place it. There was something that he didn’t like about _fairies_ or the thought of them- ever since he was cursed to live as a werewolf.

He looked at the photo. Marcassin smiled back at him, older and wiser. _What would you say to that, eh Marc?_ He wondered. _I suppose it couldn’t hurt to have some help. They could use the support, too._ He heaved a sigh.

He finally caved. These two sure drove a hard bargain, he had to admit. He revealed he knew where to find the man in the picture, to their surprise, but didn’t say much else.

Oliver thanked him but couldn’t recall ever hearing the thief’s name. “Swaine…,” he introduced himself. “Good to meet you, kiddo,” he jovially greeted as he handed back the picture. He supposed he’d be able to see it every now and again.

The kid, taking his mission rather seriously, corrected him and repeated his name. Swaine backed down. The girl introduced herself as Esther. The fairy gave his name, title and all- Drippy, Lord High, Lord of the Fairies he dared to call himself. While they were introducing themselves, he remembered his familiar.

He hoped he was alright. He had managed to forget about him as well during all of that chaos. When he called on him, he looked down and found the stout warrior was ready and willing as ever. He couldn’t help but smile fondly at him.

“You have a familiar,” Oliver observed excitedly.

“You didn’t steal it, did you,” the harpist accused.

Taken aback by her claim, leaned back and refuted it. He considered himself lucky to even have Gunthur. The creature had been his only companion despite his condition and, for that, he was thankful.

“I’m not just any old bloke with a familiar (and a knack for thieving)!” He looked around for something to show off his pickpocketing skills- anything.

After calling back his familiar, he began to walk towards a chest that seemed to out of reach for them, letting a smirk creep onto his face. “Now look here, you lot! You see that chest over there,” he began to exclaim.

They eagerly paid attention as he explained one of the few perks of having him on board their tiny group. The more useful he was the less likely they’d suspect him of anything other than that. He brought the gun out and took aim.

The two kids jumped back when the gun went off. When they returned their attention to his display, he was already holding an item from the now open chest.

“Not bad, eh,” he gloated, admiring his prize. “See, those are what the professionals call-“

“You’re the one who scared away those beasts,” the girl interrupted his spiel.

Oliver and Drippy looked between her and Swaine who also stared blankly at her out of shock.

He furrowed his brow, searching for the memory. “Ye- No… I don’t think,” he began to falter, looking for a way to deny her claim. “Look, it couldn’t have been me. I’m kind of a guy who lingers in the shadows more like.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Are you sure? Not a lot of people use guns around here.”

The thief sighed. “Probably a traveler,” he lied. He shrugged and shook his head in an attempt to drop the subject. “At any rate- that’s what I can do,” he wrapped up as he put away the pickpocketing pistol and handed the item to Oliver.

Esther, apparently buying the whole idea that it was a random traveler commented on her slight mistrust.

 _Oh well,_ he had thought upon hearing it. _I suppose I_ could _have revealed it was me. Perhaps later after we make some headway…_ He sighed quietly. _She’ll take a bit of time. Damn. I’m such an idiot._ He berated himself, though he wagered it was better than _everything_ about him being exposed.

The ship captain alerted them from the middle of the dock that they were ready to set sail. The kids were ready and willing to depart and so was he… if not for what mode of transportation they were taking.

He stood at the plank and looked down at it. His eyes drifted to the sea the boat rested in. He looked up at them- the crew, the captain, and the people who had just given him a second chance despite his secrets.

“Swaine,” one of them asked when they noticed his hesitation.

He looked at the boat and at the water again. He didn’t answer. His heart rate picked up. His breaths became more ragged.

“Hey,” are you okay, the redhead inquired, walking down the plank to meet him.

He didn’t take his eyes off where the water met the boat. He could feel his body beginning to tremble.

It took the boy grabbing his shoulder to break him out of his trance. “Swaine?”

“Ah… er… The last time I was on a boat,” he started to reflect. “I ended up shipwrecked.” He rubbed the back of his head, his hand slightly tangled in his own messy hair. “That’s how I ended up here.”

He took a deep, shaky breath. “Yeah, not all of the crew liked me, but… It was home for quite a while.” He looked up at the captain of the boat and then back at the sea again with his eyes. “I was the only survivor.”

As Oliver listened, he could hear a hint of guilt in his words. When he was done explaining himself, the boy looked down in thought. He was blaming himself for what happened, he realized. He looked back up and met the man’s eyes. “Hey,” he started to assure him. “Swaine, look. Accidents happen- you couldn’t have known.”

Oliver swallowed hard. Apparently, that was something he needed to hear, himself. He smiled at the man. “So, don’t beat yourself up over it! I know it’s hard…” Another hard swallow. “But sometimes… you just have to push yourself even if you don’t feel like it.” He laughed cheerfully, warmly. “And take it one step at a time… That’s what mom always use to say!” The boy shrugged nonchalantly. “Who knows? Some of them might still be alive! _You_ survived!”

The thief raised an eyebrow at his new friend. This kid, he had no idea of what he had done. It was only because of him that the crew was lost- that the ship had sunk.

He wasn’t about to correct him on it. He needed them to trust him and the truth… he was scared of losing what good fortune he finally had because of it. His fear was only masked by his dread of going on the boat.

Oliver had a point, though. This was his only chance at getting back to Hamelin. He had to pull through until it was over with. This time, he would watch his curse more carefully.

… _Use to…?_ He thought, catching the tense of his words. He wagered that he wasn’t the only one in this group with a dead parent, at least.

All the more reason to have these kids’ back, he supposed.


	7. Chapter 6

They took off, weighing anchor and everything. The ship moved with unprecedented speed as they headed toward open waters.

He nervously looked at the two kids and the fairy looking out over the port side of the ship. He rubbed his hair nervously. His unease hadn’t left. It was on a boat he had taken his first victims, accident or no.

Then the threat of being targeted by Shadar at sea crossed his mind and the dread worsened.

Was this his gut or was it fear of the wolf that caused his discomfort…? What had he signed onto, looking after those three?

“Easy now,” the captain exclaimed as he gave a hard slap on the thief’s back. “Ya look seasick! Haven’t got yer sea legs yet, have ye?”

Swaine flinched at the contact. He shook his head. It had been years since he had actually sailed on a boat. It had been years since… since the day he had…

No. He had to stop thinking about that for now. If he dwelled on it, it would only make him more likely to expose his secrets.

“Well, yeah. I… ah…,” he nervously tried to return. The last time he exchanged words with the captain, he hadn’t been quite himself. He remembered vaguely threatening him. He had to say his first impression was probably far from glamorous.

They were going to be spending the next few weeks on the boat. It was probably best to make amends. “Look. Whatever I did? That wasn’t me…” He looked at the ground in a slight sense of shame. He shook his head.

Another hard pat on the back. “I know. I saw the whole thing or did ye forget that, too?”

Swaine gave a nervous chuckle as the captain moved on. “Oi! Your name? Or will you be going by ‘Captain’ and ‘Sir’ the entire time?”

The shirtless captain stopped right in his tracks going up the stairs.  “Sindbah. Jus’ call me that.” With a grin, he continued his trek to check on the helmsman.

The group, now finally over the excitement of the journey walked towards him.

“You think it will take long to get to Hamelin,” Oliver wondered aloud to the group in general.

The thief looked up. He looked around him at the ocean and at the land masses that he could find. “I’d say about… A month and a half. Less than that.” He shrugged. “Depends on the speed of this boat and winds that carry it.”

Esther looked at their new companion with a raised eyebrow. “Really? It takes that long?”

Another shrug. “From what I can recall.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously. “And how do you know?”

“He was on a boat once,” Oliver informed.

She gave an even more suspicious glare. “Were you a pirate, Swaine?”

He bounced back. He shook his head and held his hands in front of him. “No, no. Nothing like that. I was actually interned on a trade ship.” He lowered his hands. “Used to go all over the world… well mostly. I hardly left the ship, so that’s almost all of my travelling experience.”

“Aye. Seems ol’ Swaine here got shipwrecked like. Reckoned he picked up a good bit of sailin’ experience. Just like one o’ me uncles! There’s coincidental,” the fairy chimed in. “Well, I guess not exactly like ‘im- he didn’t lose an entire ship an’-“

“Mr. Drippy, I think that’s enough,” Oliver warned when the man seemed rather put off by the mention.

The wizard sighed and cast a small smile at the others. “So, this will be our home for the next month?”

The Fairy gave a firm nod, his lantern jingling with the motion. “Seems like it, Ollie-boy!”

“I’ve never slept on a ship before,” Esther said, looking at the deck. “I wonder where we’ll be staying.”

The thief listed to the side as he glanced down at his shoes in thought. “The barracks, more than likely.” Swaine began to walk towards an opening facing the captain’s quarters. “Should either here or there.” He pointed at the two open areas. He looked down at the steps, the group following and looking around him.

Just benches bolted to the ground it seemed and an area built specifically for cooking over coals should the occasion arise.

“Swaine…,” Esther started to argue. “I don’t think this is where we sleep.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’m just hungry.” He sighed as he continued staring at the room.

A growl sounded from one of the others’ stomachs.

“Seems like I’m not the only one,” he replied to the noise. He turned to look at the three curiously. Whatever they had fought had probably built up their appetite. For a moment, he wondered if he was to blame.

Oliver raised a hand meekly, admitting his guilt. “How about we eat. Then we can get settled in,” he suggested to the rest.

Drippy nodded fervently. “Sounds like a plan.”

They soon found themselves surrounding a table. Oliver was pulling out plates of curry and iced coffees for the group from his bag. He passed one to everyone.

When the thief received his, he stared down at it- something he continued to do even as everyone began to eagerly eat their fill.

“Swaine,” Oliver questioned. “I thought you were hungry.”

He looked up. “I am. But… Are you sure about this?”

“What, feeding you?”

“Yeah. Don’t you have limited supply…?”

“We can get more. We find plenty of guilders after fighting beasts,” Esther chimed in. “Besides, unless you plan on being lazy, you’re going to need your strength,” she snidely advised.  

To be honest, he didn’t feel like he deserved to eat his share… not after all the trouble he had caused for them. They really didn’t have to do this.

“Look, I thank you- sincerely. You really shouldn’t have to feed me-,” he began to decline.

His stomach rumbled in protest. He pressed his hands against the table when he felt the dull ache of hunger slowly rise.

He hadn’t realized how hungry he truly was until then.

The boy gave him that same serious expression he had given on the dock of Castaway Cove. “If we’re going to get to the next sage in one piece, then we’ve all got to take care of each other.” He looked at Esther and Drippy and then back at Swaine with an even more determined look than before. “That means if someone needs to eat, they should eat.”

This wasn’t up for debate. A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips at the sincerity of this kid’s words.

Deciding it would be better not to die of starvation and short their team after just recently gaining an ally, he tore the foil on top of the curry off and dove in.

He shoveled forkful after forkful and couldn’t stop. He inhaled it- savoring the delicious meal after subsiding on scraps and whatever the wolf had found for so long.

The kids watched in awe as the bowl was devoured. They even wondered if he had time to breath when he slammed the almost completely barren wooden bowl on the table, fated to spin haphazardly until it stopped.

He breathed deep and heavy breaths as he leaned backward and bent half of his torso over the table. His face was lightly covered with grains of rice and sauce from the dish.

“Gees, Swaine,” Esther exclaimed after a moment of processing what she just witnessed. Aghast, she continued, “Is that- is that how you’d normally eat?!”

He glared at the blonde. “Look, you siren-,” he began to fuss. That was when he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. He scrambled to his feet and bolted for the upper deck.

“Guess thief-face overdid it. Proper shame.”

The bard rolled her eyes. “That’s what he gets for being a pig. Gross.”

Oliver turned from looking worriedly at the path the man had taken. “Esther, that was probably his first meal in days…” He looked back at the girl. “I don’t think any of us would have acted any different.”

“Aye…” Drippy shook his head. “But did you see the look in his eye? Proper weird wasn’t it?”

The teens looked at the fairy, confused by his analysis.

“What look,” Oliver asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t see any look,” Esther added.

The fairy shook his head again, this time with closed eyes. “Somethin’ ent right about him. I can feel it in me lantern. I just can’t place it!”

“He _is_ a thief,” the harpist accused. “He’s probably not telling us everything.”

“Everyone’s allowed to have secrets, Esther,” the young mage reminded her. “Besides, maybe he’s not as bad as we think.” He wanted to give him a chance at least. The fairy’s warning had merit as did Esther’s fear, but he was willing to give the man a chance…

Oliver needed all the help he could get to beat the Dark Djinn and Swaine was willing and ready to aid them.

Before they could continue their discussion, Swaine returned wiping his mouth with a sleeve, looking a little more tired after reaping the consequence of his actions. Well, one of them at least.

“Are you okay,” the wizard asked.

“Never better.” He flopped down into the bench. He cracked open his ice coffee and washed the bile from his mouth. After slamming his drink onto the table and lowering his head, he muttered, “What a good start to our little team this is.”

“Well… At least we’ve got each other,” Esther attempted to encourage him despite her suspicion.

Oliver gave a curt nod. “Yeah, that’s right!” He grinned at the three of them. “We’re like a small family!”

Swaine almost choked on his coffee in shock. “We’re not _that_ close,” he exclaimed after successfully swallowing. “Give it time, kid!”

The girl tilted her head to the side, her braid following the flow of gravity in direction. “Well, I mean… we kind of are.” She giggled. “I’m the older sister, you’re the (irresponsible) older brother, and Oliver’s the younger brother and…” She stopped short when she couldn’t think of a role for the fairy.

“And? Ya can’t go forgetting me! I’m one of the most important parts of this whole family, ent I?”

“I know Mr. Drippy,” the boy responded. “You’re the cool uncle.”

The fairy puffed out his chest. “That I am!”

The thief groaned as he looked toward the wooden ceiling. They were jumping the gun a bit, weren’t they? It was a bit much for him.

Though, he supposed they had a point. It was good to be a part of something even if he couldn’t be up front with his condition.

 _Thank you, you three._ He thought, staring quietly at his bottle of iced coffee. He hadn’t felt so welcome since his childhood- since the days he could look his brother or even his father in the eye without ever worrying what either thought of him. 

* * *

Sometimes the ship would be attacked on the high seas by beasts- usually easily fought off by the group. He understood now what they meant by gathering money... it seemed after witnessing their strength, travelers- or in this case, the crew of the sea cow- gave them small rewards and items they had on hand for the effort.

Some of them even had coins hidden in their fur or a few lodged between their horns. He considered it odd and rather overlooked behavior, some more than others.

If only he had thought of some of that in all the years he had been wandering the Summerlands! He would have been living like a king!

Oh well. It didn't matter all the same. What did matter was the more he fought alongside them, the better they got at coordinating with each other and the stronger they seemed to hit their foes and the faster those foes fell. It also helped that he had more than one familiar to call on, effectively giving poor Gunthur a break from protecting him.

It wasn’t all fun and games, however. There would be times he’d be knocked out with little memory of what happened after.

The first time it happened, he woke up with brief worry that they’d abandon him for being so weak. He looked up to find a hand outstretched towards him- a concerned look on the young wizard’s face.

His heart sank at the memory of the traveler just after his heart had been broken. That gnawing fear persisted in the back of his mind. They were next. He was counting down the days until his curse would show itself and with each day his fear of what he currently believed was the inevitable grew.

He set his jaw as he accepted the hand up. He thanked the kid and continued on with the fight. He was at least going to try and give them both a fighting chance against him- whether it be the Dark Djinn or the monster within himself.

However temporary it may have initially been, their little group was becoming closer knit. He worried for the day he’d part ways with them or worse- the day they’d discover his curse.

He had had nightmares about it… The pain he would inflict on them.

He would often catch himself looking at his hands when they were off doing something small in regard to helping out the crew.

The memories were ingrained in his mind. The ship, the flesh he tore into- he couldn’t tell who he had torn asunder in his other form. The travelers that just wanted to help were the same but in his delirious state, he had their blood on his hands, too.

He seemed to stop at kids. He recalled the boy from Ding Dong Dell who fed him out of fear. He recalled his ravenous appetite. Yet, he didn’t attack that kid.

He had also tricked himself that night.

He looked up when he heard the sound of Oliver, Esther, and Drippy eagerly discussing plans or simply making small talk.

He didn’t trust himself to keep his head on straight anymore after so many years of losing his mind.

All the more reason to worry about their wellbeing.  

When he was knocked out again in a separate battle, later on, he found himself being shaken awake by Esther, this time- the battle over. The boy stood to the side, that same worried look on his face.

He wished he didn’t. He didn’t feel he had the right to be looked after by them. They couldn’t know- so he hid his guilt for his crimes behind the guilt of falling behind.

“S-sorry,” he apologized as he struggled to regain his bearings. “I must be causing quite the burden…”

With a shocked look, Oliver shook his head. “What? No!” He looked up at the thief reassuringly. “We’ve all been equally knocked out,” he reminded him as he glanced at Esther and Drippy.

“Yeah! We’re not all perfect,” the girl confirmed with a curt nod.

He had heaved a sigh at that but didn’t really respond with much after. He recalled being grateful for their acceptance of his blunders.

Besides providing support during battles and stealing from the occasional enemy, he felt it was all he could do to repay their kindness.

The next few battles proved their words. He found himself reaching for Oliver’s bag sitting on the sidelines to grab one of the many magical feathers that brought the teens to their senses.

For the next few weeks, his guilt and fear began to weigh a little less on his mind. He found himself sometimes laughing at something silly one the teens did or getting irate at something other than himself- usually the fairy or Esther.

He often found himself leaning on mop handle in during his turn to clean the deck staring at the sea. He missed being at peace like this. The closest he had come was the Golden Grove or on the trade ship before the incident.

He wondered when it would come crashing down, sometimes.

Considering the task they had undertaken, it was inevitable.

He looked at the kids- Oliver was sparring with Esther, both shouting excitedly as they attempted to better their fighting techniques. They even pulled out some of their lesser familiars to help strengthen them.

That was their usual routine. At one point he had even charged into their mock battle with the mop handle, throwing a corny one-liner to catch them off guard- something about being the Dark Djinn’s less talented brother and doing his bidding- and chased them around the main deck.

All ending in him tripping over himself and accidentally tackling them when Drippy jumped in front in a foolhardy attempt to stop this “new threat to the world”. The young mage was the first to burst into laughter and the harpist and thief followed suit.

“I see you’ve run into a spot o’ trouble,” Sindbah shouted from the helm.

“We’re fine,” Oliver shouted as he got up.

Swaine chuckled. “If only defeating the Dark Djinn were as simple as that!” He pulled himself up and dusted himself off.

Drippy took a fighting stance. “If it were, I’d let him have it, like! I’d be ready to go, believe me!” He threw some fairy sized mock punches. 

“Well, judging from that, you two would still fall,” the cad observed coyly. “It may have been an accident but…”

Esther rolled her eyes at the man’s remark. “Yeah, yeah. We know, Swaine.” She gave a thumbs up to the rest of them. “Good thing we’re practicing!” 

* * *

The weeks turned over into a month and he dreaded the night of the full moon. His plan was to stay in the brig that night.

During the weeks he found some connection and even comfort in his new friends. It seemed Oliver shared his interests in machines. He’d often find himself listening in as he watched both him and Esther mop the upper deck of the ship.

At sunset, on the very eve of that full moon, the waves started to roll, and the winds picked up. The boat dipped and rose as it was buffeted by the oncoming storm.

Then, from the clouds, a dark hooded figure with ginger dreadlocks hanging from the obscured face, a pair of spindly hands, and bizarre ornamentation around his neck descended from the clouds.

There was something familiar about the figure- to both the thief and the bard. A wave of fear and, consequently, sickening dread washed through Swaine as he stepped back nervously alongside Esther. Neither of them could exactly put a name to the Djinn before them, but they knew just by the sinking feeling in their hearts...

"Who the bloody hell is that," the thief exclaimed despite his knowledge.

Oliver looked up with wide eyes.  "It's...," he started to say. 

The fairy nodded grimly from his place at Oliver's feet. "Shadar..."

"The Dark Djinn," Esther concluded, stepping forward and fighting her fear.

A dark chuckle- one Swaine had hoped he'd never hear again, pierced through the howling winds and echoed around them. 

"Fortunate for you to have made it this far," he congratulated sinisterly. 

He glided towards them. “This is as far as you will go,” he taunted as he slung an arm at them.

Spires of blue flames began to climb into the sky around them, forcing the group back.

“We’re under attack,” the harpist cried out as she pulled her harp from under her arm, summoning her Strongo, Gogo.

Oliver, determined and ready, had already drawn his wand and had summoned his own familiar- used to falling into such unexpected and dire battles. 

The thief sighed heavily in exasperation. He readied his gun and called on Gunthur.

They threw themselves into battle just as the Dark Djinn had. Their attacks seemed weak and futile against his form.

The spires were cold enough to burn- a paradox in their form. Such damage they caused would have been deadly had it not been for the other two’s healing magic.

The winter spell the sorcerer called down on them didn’t help, however. It chilled the air and threatened glacial boulders and spikes to rain down upon them.

The group seemed to have trouble staying on their feet- some didn’t pay attention to the attack or didn’t form a strong enough stance and were sent flying. Some slipped on a frozen patch of ground or got caught in a stray pocket of frigid air.

“Hey,” Swaine shouted both Oliver and Esther, who seemed to stare gobsmacked at the attack. “Guard!”

They looked over at the thief in confusion. “Ward,” he managed to ask just before being struck by a falling block of ice.

“I think… he said, ‘guard’,” the bard corrected as she pulled herself from the ground.

If they survived this battle, the first thing they needed to work on was midbattle communication.

Each time someone tried to warn the other, it was misheard. Each time the ice struck them, one of the teens- or even the thief- would get hurt because of lack of a proper stance to brace themselves.

As the fight drew on, the eve slowly turned into night. The winds got colder, and the Dark Djinn’s power strengthened.

The moon was beginning its ascent behind the clouds. The thief could feel its pull. He hoped the clouds would remain should the storm pass.

He feared what would happen to him if it didn’t. He feared what would happen to his new-found allies.

He dreaded to think of how badly he would doom the fate of the world. After what he had seen during this fight and the small quarrels before with sea creatures, he had started to think twice about his first assumptions of the two.

It seemed as if the battle would go on forever. How long did he intend to torture them?

“I’ve seen all I need,” the shade finally crowed. He rose from the deck of the Sea Cow. “Witness my power.”

The wind grew harsher, the seas rougher.

When he looked up, an eye surrounded by blue runes had formed in the sky. “What the- what the hell _is_ that,” he howled in disbelief. He looked to Sindbah when he heard his reply.

“The Eye of the Storm,” the captain cried out trying his best to keep his balance on the main deck. “Curses! We will not escape these waters!”

Oliver turned his attention to Sindbah. “What does that mean?!”

“Get to cover, men,” the captain shouted at the crew. He looked at the boy in question as he finished his order, “If that eye looks this way we’re done for.”

To late… “Well, we better hang on to something _now_ , because the damn thing already is,” Swaine exclaimed to his group as he pointed at the eye.

He looked at the structures built into the ship. The mast seemed the most stable part. If it broke off with them clinging onto it, it would serve as a temporary life raft.

“There! The mast,” he shouted before leaping for it.

The two kids and the fairy exchanged looks before catching onto his logic. They held on, the captain joining them, as the storm began to grow more furious than it had just minutes ago. 

The ship was tossed about on the sea. Planks of wood were torn from the deck, some of it hitting the railing.

The ships sails were pulled at and torn despite them being put away by the crew.

Thunder clapped after flashes of lightning.

They all hoped for the best as they pressed themselves against the mast.

The ship tilted forward as a large wave had caught it.

The mage began to lose his grip on the pole. His feet slid on the wood beneath his feet. He yelped in fear as his hands slid off. “Aaaah,” he cried as he began to slide towards the bow of the ship. 

“Oliver,” Esther shouted as she took hold of her friend. “Hang on!”

The boy gulped as he nodded. He tried to get up, but the slippery surface of the deck wouldn’t let him.

The harpist attempted to pull him in. The thief extended an arm to help.

Just as Oliver was about to reach for Swaine’s hand, a plank of wood hit the boy and wrenched him out of the girl’s grasp.

“Oliver,” they both shouted in shock as they watched him slide towards the railing.

Without thinking, Swaine released his grip on the mast and chased after him. He used the slope of the ship to propel him forward.

Oliver bumped into the railing and fell into the sea. It seemed the rain had lightened up when he did- as if the storm was solely for him. That didn’t change the wind nor the waves.

Swaine bumped into the rail himself and peered over the side. “Oliver,” he shouted after him, hoping to see the familiar mop of red hair.

 _Not again… not another person! I_ refuse _to let any of them die while I’m around,_ he thought as he looked for the boy amongst the waves.

He was probably beneath the surface of the sea. He had no other choice. He jumped in.

The waves immediately began to drag him under, but he managed to barely stay afloat. When he looked up, he could see Esther peering down over the side of the railing, a worried look on her face.

“Oliver,” he shouted, his voice garbled by the wind and the sea. He coughed when salt water threatened to enter his mouth.

He kept close to the ship as he looked around for his friend. “Oliver! Say something!” He spat the water out again as he fought the waves.

The moon began to peak through the clouds.

Every hair on his body felt like it was on end. His senses started to heighten. He felt a cold chill down his back. He feared how the wolf would react to this…

If a threat spurred the beast to kill, what would panic do?

What would become of that kid if he found him…?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Beast or man, he swore to himself he’d have their back. He swore to them that he could get them to the great sage. That was the deal. He was a man of his word and letting Oliver drown would mean going back on it.

He raised his slightly formed snout above the water. He sniffed and hoped his human senses aligned with his werewolf ones.

The scent, while deadened by the rain, of an ancient tree from his clothes, the scent of soot from an old book, and the smell of a pampered kitten mixed with mice came from a little way away from the ship. It was as if he could see the smell, despite the sea washing it away. He was drifting- above water, for he could pick up his scent.  

“I see him,” he howled to Esther, his transformation only partial due to the haze over the moon. He began to swim toward the boy.

She looked towards the direction he was heading. There was nothing. “Where,” she asked fretfully.

She didn’t receive an answer. Instead, she watched as he swam away. “He’s insane! He’s going to get himself killed!” She backed up as much as she could.

“Oi! Esther! Get back to the mast,” Drippy warned. “Thief-face is already going after ‘im!”

“But! What if Swaine can’t get to him,” she protested. She looked between the mast and the sea. “He’s swimming away from the boat to who knows where!”

She shook her head. “I’m going in after them!”

“You what?! There’s foolish!”

“They need my help! I don’t see what’s foolish about that,” she argued before leaping over the rail.

The Fairy gawked in shock at her and then let go, himself. He bounded after the harpist.

“Fairy! Where are you off to,” Sindbah called.

“To be with my butties! If I lose ‘em, well, some friend I’ll be, eh? There’s proper logical,” he answered as he stood on the rail. He dove in and quickly found Esther.

With his help he kept her above water, fairies having the uncanny ability to be light and buoyant.

The waves were harsh and the winds, while no longer as terrifyingly dangerous as the ones during the eye of the storm still buffeted the group.

He finally reached the kid, his arms sore from the struggle. All that was left was to bring him back to the Sea Cow.

Clinging to the piece of board, himself, he took hold of the boy who was falling in and out of consciousness. “I got you, kid…” He pulled out his gun as he pressed his friend to his side. He aimed as best as he could with the gun at the railing and fired.

The grappling claw launched, and he hoped the wire was long enough. 

It missed. He sighed in disappointment.

He began to kick, trying to best the waves with their only means of staying afloat. He started to reel in grappling claw.

He blinked when he found it was catching on something. He lightly tapped the trigger three times to pull faster.

Then he saw them- Esther and Drippy- sailing towards him in the direct path of the hook.

“What the hell,” he yelped.

When they finally got to him, the moon had hidden behind the clouds again. His face had at least returned to normal.

“Swaine! Good! You found Oliver!”

“Are you two flipping mad,” he scolded. “Now we’re all caught in the middle of a raging sea!”

“She jumped in and I thought to go after to make sure she was safe, like,” Drippy managed to explain despite being nearly half drowned by the sea.

 _In other words,_ you _didn’t want to be alone,_ Swaine thought as he looked over at the boat they were constantly being pushed away from. “Hey, fairy. Grab the board. I need my claw.”

“What? Why,” Esther asked before the fairy could say anything.

The thief looked at the boat. The captain managed to persuade one of his men to man the harpoon gun at the bow despite the storm. It seemed as if he figured out the thief’s initial plan.  

He nodded at it, directing their attention. “That’s why.”

“Aye! I see what youer saying!” The fairy quickly grabbed onto Oliver’s sleeve, keeping the group together.

Esther handed back the claw to its rightful owner. She clung to the board.

They fired the harpoon. The thief took aim and waited for the right moment.

It refused to fire when he finally pulled the trigger. The gun was waterlogged. He hastily kept trying, readjusting his aim as the hook descended. “Come on, come on, come on,” he pleaded with it. “Work with me, here.”

“Bang,” sounded the pellet gun, the internal mechanism finally finding traction. It snagged onto the rope and he closed the claw.

He began slowly reeling them in. Once at the rope, he hooked his gun into his belt. “Esther, grab the harpoon rope,” he demanded.

“Nicely,” she requested.

“R-really?! Now,” he griped. “We are in the middle of drowning,” he reminded her.

“Okay! Okay,” she huffed as she retrieved the rope.

He curtly nodded in confirmation. “Now hold on.” He let the gun release its prey.

“Now what,” she asked.

He tugged twice on the rope to signal them.

Nothing. He looked up at the harpoon gun and found it had been struck by lightning. The man that was manning it was looking dumbfounded at the device while gripping the rail at the frontmost bow.

“Wha- _Flipping hell_!” Could anything go right?! “Can we even climb up this now,” he wondered, looking at the splintered wood of the half-destroyed harpoon gun. He doubted his pickpocketing pistol had any use left. He’d need to repair the thing later.

If they survived.

“What do we do,” Esther whimpered, equally frightened.

The man looked at the board. What _could_ they do? “I… Don’t know.” He looked to the fairy.  

“What about familiars,” Drippy suggested.

Swaine shook his head. “Wouldn’t be much help.” They were already risking their lives floating out there. “Using them would risk one of us losing grip. Unless you want to be lost at sea for good,” he explained to the currently conscious pair.

Just as he had gotten through explaining his reasoning, the sky darkened further. He snatched the harpoon rope out of her hand and before she could complain, he yanked the hook up. He lifted it by the hoop and jabbed it into the center of the board, anchoring it to the ship.

The storm picked up again. The waves rolled higher.

“We should cross arms with each other, like! That way, we don’t get separated,” Drippy advised.

For once, the thief was grateful the fairy was so loud. He already had an arm around Oliver’s torso. He looked at Esther.

She nodded and over the plank, she hooked an arm under his and he did the same.  She reached around the fairy, tucking him under her arm and held onto the mage.

A large wave picked up the ship.

It didn’t take long for the sea to nearly claim them all.


	8. Chapter 7

When he awoke, he was nearly battered and bruised all over. A part of him remembered feeling this way years long ago.

It was the latter half of the night. He could feel something warm beneath him. He looked down to find the three his human half had allied himself with.

He disliked one of them… for some reason. It was a gut feeling- something he could not explain.

There was just… something about fairies. Something he didn’t trust.

It didn’t matter. He crawled off of the three. He stood, crouching on his haunches.

Gascon would be disappointed to find his shoes had gone missing, he realized.

His ears caught the sound of the waves hitting wood. They caught the voices of crew members aboard the ship.

He found himself over the two kids, knocking the unconscious fairy away, sending him rolling across the sand of the beach. He watched the damaged ship for any signs of danger.

 _Protect them_. _Protect the young._ His instincts demanded.

They were still breathing- shallowly. They were still warm. They were alive but weak.

So was he.

He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t dare.

Someone crawled down from the ship.

He bared his teeth and watched as they rappelled down the damaged hull with an oil lantern hanging from his mouth.

He sniffed the air. Salt, brine, whiskey, a man of the sea. It could have been anyone from the crew. He tried again, this time picking up the familiar scent of milk and babanas.

 _Sindbah_.

He barely knew the captain. _Gascon_ knew the captain.

He still stood over their bodies just in case his nose was wrong or that the man had ill will. The fur on his back bristled. Even the mane that made up his usually unkept human hair seemed to poof up in defense.

He snarled when the edge of the light met his fur covered hands that had warped into paw like appendages.

The man halted in place. “The hell…?” His hand hovered over his cutlass handle. He slowly approached the dog-like form. He struggled to remain composed at the sight.

“A… Werewolf…,” he gasped. “By the stars…” He crept closer. He tilted his head to look at the garb.

His eyes widened when he recognized the familiar green coat and rugged orange shirt. “…Swaine?”

A deeper growl. He crouched lower over the two kids. Nothing could hit them without hitting him first.

“Y-you-! You can’t be… Were you the- the Southern Summerlands beast?”

For a moment he let his snarl fade. He looked down at the sand with a slight whine and half-closed eyes. He looked away from the man in shame.  

“You were, weren’t you?!” He shook his head. “Figures. Suppose that was also when you weren’t yerself?”

A short growl sounded from the wolf, one the captain took as a yes.

Sindbah carefully edged closer some more. He was within reaching distance now. He looked at Esther and Oliver. “What did you do to them? Eh?”

His snarl returned just as quickly as it had vanished. He started to growl louder at the ship captain. His fur bristled again.

“Did you kill them?”

 _Of course not!_ He thought. He shook his head locked eyes with the man before him.

He had heard of the tales of werewolves. Their eyes usually glowing red with fury. One would do well to stay clear of them and never look them dead in the eye lest becoming their next meal.

A nervous sweat ran down his back. He had already broken one rule about werewolves.

His mouth hung open when he noticed something off about this one though.

The eyes weren’t glowing red- but rather a soft deep purple color. He found that quite an odd contradiction.

“Then step aside.”

He didn’t move. Everything was telling him not to move. Who was he to demand this of him? He hardly knew Sindbah. And what did he plan to do with that knife sheathed at his hip?

“What do you want with them, hmm? Are you going to eat them?”

He lowered his head, so the top of his snout could be seen. He still maintained eye contact. His growling intensified. _Get back. They’re mine to take care of. I don’t trust you._

He looked at the way he was hovering over the mage and the familiar tamer. Was he shielding them?

He noticed the occasional glance the wolfed-out cad made at the weapon on his belt- the one he threatened to draw should things get ugly. He wasn’t going to get any closer to the wolf with that plan in mind. He slowly drew closer to Swaine, lifting his hand from the cutlass handle. He heard a deeper growl, then a softer one. There was less threat to him now.

He reached out nervously. “I’m not going to do anything to them, do you hear me, mate?” He held his hand just in front of the werewolf’s nose. “I know you’re still that thief- he’s there somewhere in ye.” He smirked. “I know what you’re tryin’ to do, Swaine. So, if you let me take a look at them, I promise to keep this between us.”

His eyes widened at the prospect and his mouth relaxed. It had been a decade since fear fueled cautious care, not brutal violence- since he could lower his guard towards himself and humans.

He had used his actual name twice- both times with respect to him.

He looked at the ship captain then around his shoulder at the wreckage.

Sindbah followed his gaze and then returned his attention to the wolf. “Ah, don’t worry about them. They’re all trying to get what rest they can in the barracks.” He waved it away with a carefree smile. “Now if you’ll move, I’ll see to it these three make a speedy recov’ry.” He handed the lantern to the werewolf.

He looked down at the hand with the lantern in it. He lifted a hand and took the lantern. He crawled over to the side and set the lantern down next to them.

“Thanks, Swaine.” He nodded as he started to flip the two kids over onto their backs to pump the water out of their chests.

Three times- and he suddenly felt more relaxed around Sindbah. Was this a sense of trust…? It felt so foreign to him. He looked down at his hand like paws. It felt good to not be so dreadfully feared after all those years.

He wondered about the faith he had put in the captain. Did it go both ways?

 _Gather food._ Was the urge that spurred him, now. Would Sindbah be leery of him hunting for the group?

He got up and prowled on all fours to look at the rest of the island. He looked back at the man pressing on Oliver’s chest. He whined to alert him.

The captain looked up momentarily. He nodded curtly.

He looked at the forests and then back again.

“Go. Do what you need to do, Swaine. Just don’t kill anyone,” he said as he continued to resuscitate the mage.

Filled with confidence, he stared at the captain for just a moment more and took to the slightly less densely tree populated area, sensing something in the middle he’d much rather avoid.

There was something off-putting about the island, he found. 

* * *

In the woods, he stalked a large bird- something that reminded him of a turkey. _This will be like all the others._ He thought as he peered over a bush.

He reared his head back at that thought. The human side of him detested it. For a moment, he entertained how silly Gascon was to hate such violent behavior in order to survive. A thief. With a gun. Disliking the act of subduing prey to survive. It was no different than sneakily hunting down coin to purchase food!

He shook his head and focused on the bird again. When he was sure its back was turned, he bounded over the bush. Within a fraction of a second, his paws barely hitting the ground, he lunged to the bird before it could make its escape.

His teeth sank into its neck. A slight euphoria overcame him as his prey struggled. Weaker prey- smaller than him and barely able to put up a fight- was what he sought. To finally be able to catch his game without having to exhaust himself- his impulsivity getting the best of him- was a relief. As a result, he had become quite undernourished for a werewolf.

With a slight growl, his jaw clamped harder and he heard the sound of bones break under its pressure, along with the blood spurting all over his muzzle. He had his prize- his dinner.

He dropped the bird and licked his lips, his eyes glowing a bright magenta. A good kill, for once.

Then the memories came back. They overrode his glee for catching it and forced the snarl of a smile from his lips.

The long dead ship crew, the terror in the kid’s eyes in Ding Dong Dell, the ghastly faces locked on the travelers before being torn asunder made him nauseous. Then there were these kids he was hunting for now.

He looked down at the blood-stained ground and the bird. Just one solid bite was all it took to end its life. And here he was, almost gloating in his head about how _easy_ and thrilling it was. He had to remind himself just how much of a threat he really was. 

The glow in his eyes faded as he picked up the bird and began to walk back to the camp. While he feared this power he had just rediscovered, one thing kept him in check- the pups he had just hunted for. 

* * *

When he returned, he found the ship captain had covered the three with blankets and started a campfire nearby. He sat at the edge of the dry sand, watching the sea and unaware the thief turned wolf's presence.

He dropped the carcass of a large bird onto the ground behind him, his muzzle bloodied from the kill. He walked into the water and let the waves wash him clean of the evidence. 

"So that's how you covered your tracks," he heard as he returned to dry land.

He shook his entire body, sending water flying everywhere.

"Careful, Swaine. You'll put out the fire!"

He huffed through his nose as he approached the two teens. He watched them closely to see if they were still breathing.

“They’re going to be fine.”

He turned and walked towards the shore, briefly glancing back again before he sat next to Sindbah as a dog would. They both stared at the same sea illuminated by the moon.

“So how does that work- being a werewolf? Will you remember anything from tonight?”

Swaine looked at the sand in thought. He lifted a paw hesitantly as he attempted to gather his thoughts. He began to write. _“Gascon might. The memories are suppressed by day.”_

“Who…?”

He erased the words and replied, _“The human half.”_

“You have two names?”

_“He stole mine and answers to it.”_

The captain sighed. “Should I call you ‘Gascon’ when you’re human…?

_“He doesn’t want anyone to know.”_

“And yet, you tell me?”

_“You respect the power I have in this form. You’ve promised to keep it a secret on behalf of Gascon.”_

Sindbah stared at the writing for a moment before looking back out at the sea pensively. He couldn’t find a response to that. He looked back down at the sand when he heard the sweeping motion of a paw.

_“Why do you trust me?”_

He looked up at Swaine. The wolf stared back at him, his ears raised, and his head tilted to the side. The captain sighed and looked down at the question. “I suppose I owe you a secret for a secret.” He looked up at the moon overhead. “I used to be a pirate. It almost seems like a lifetime ago.”

The werewolf shifted his front paws over his legs as he leaned closer to Sindbah. His ears were now completely vertical in surprise.

He could almost hear the cad shout, “A _pirate_?!” But all he really heard was a sharp squeak in surprise.

“I was taken in by a pirate crew at the age o’ twelve. I was a runaway and a trouble maker, probably like you,” he reflected, taking a short glance at the wolf. “It became the only life I knew- the life on the open sea, plundering and pillaging all sorts of ships. On account of my lack of strength, I didn’t actively participate in their raids. A cabin boy I was.”

“So many ill acquired goods sifted through my hands. I didn’t even think about how they got them.” He looked down at the waves that rolled in a few feet in front of them. “Then one particular day, near the coast of the Southern Summerlands, we attacked a vessel on its way to Autumnia of all places. It was a transport ship carrying people.”

When he looked over at Swaine he noticed the concerned look- his mouth was slightly open in shock and his ears were shifting out of curiosity. He looked away from the werewolf and to the damaged boat.

“I was on the main deck this time around. There was a kid who looked a few years younger than me- sixteen I was. He looked at me just after watching other people get run through. The look of terror on his face- I remember it to this day. My captain picked him up and threw ‘im into the sea after one of the others badly injured him.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I sat there and did nothing to help him for fear of my own life. In the dead of night, driven by my guilt, I made a swim for it to Castaway Cove.”

He saw movement from the corner of his eye. He looked down at the sand in between them.

_“That’s how you became the captain of the Sea Cow?”_

He nodded. “Aye. I still loved the sea. I made a personal vow to myself.” He leaned back. “To spend the rest of my seafaring days fighting pirates. For years I’ve commanded the Sea Cow under her Moojesty’s orders- had to work my way up the ranks first and prove myself to ‘er.” He looked at the scar on his chest. “’Tis how I got these.” A wry chuckle.

He looked at the wolf. “While my past may not be as bloody as yours has been, I have my fair share of regret. I let innocent people die all because I was an ignorant fool who couldn’t take control over his situation- or at least I thought I didn’t until that day.”

The kid from Ding Dong Dell… Then those three whom his human self was quite attached to- that he had decided to guard and hunt for. He looked at the group covered in blankets.

He jumped when a hand rested on his head. He swiveled back to look at the former pirate. His tail wagged and patted the sand.

“Ye may be in two pieces right now, but both sides have a good heart.” He took his hand off of Swaine’s head and looked back at the sea.

The sun was starting to rise. It peaked just above the horizon

“Well,” Sindbah began as he got up. “I suppose I better start preparing your catch,” he yawned as he stretched. He walked over to the bird and picked it up.

The wolf whined in response to the sunlight that began to shine on the shore. He released a short howl in pain as his fur began to glow and dissipate from his body.

The captain was halfway to the boat. He stopped short at the noise and turned around.

“Hrrrgh,” Swaine groaned as he reached up to grasp his hair just where his ears had previously been. “That- that’s never happened before,” he rasped as he laid down on his side.

“You’ve never been awake through the transformation…?”

His eyes widened, and he shot up from the sand. “What?!”

Sindbah raised an eyebrow. “Ya really don’t remember? You were rather protective of those kids… almost like they were your own pups. It took a couple of promises to get you t’move.”

He went pale. He had seen the wolf. That meant he knew who he was and what he had done. He wondered if he had caused any harm to anything else. He remembered tasting blood for the most part. He looked up at the bird slung over the captain’s back and breathed out, relieved.

“D-don’t- You won’t breath a word of this to anyone, right?” He looked at the captain dead in the eye. “Right?!”

“I swear on it.”

“And as for your earlier question- no. I’ve always woken up sometime after.” He rolled his eyes and looked at the group.

“Thank you.”

Sindbah, now almost at the boat, stopped again to look back. “Hmm?”

“For stopping me from doing something stupid. And for helping them.” He looked up at the captain who seemed taken aback by his humility.

Sindbah nodded and turned back to the rope ladder on the side of the ship to climb up it. 

Swaine looked down at his feet. It looked like he had lost his shoes again. He wasn’t looking forward to running around without them. Somehow, he knew Esther would notice the ripped toes of his socks and ask him about it.  He wasn’t looking forward to that, either.

A pair of shoes landed next to him, tied together with a few small strings. He looked up and saw the captain looking down at him expectantly. He looked back at them and untied the loafers and tried them on. A decent fit it seemed.

He looked up and nodded with a short wave, silently thanking him for his generosity.

With a nod, the captain left to attend to the bird and his crew, leaving Swaine to lie on his side once more, exhausted from his transformation.  


End file.
